Kit's Cucina Culinaria

Yoda Cake

2012-01-04T18:00:00.000-08:00

Delicious this was. Posted holiday cake eating it is! Best Yoda Cake Ever! by Cara

Paris! (with a side order of London)

2011-12-12T15:41:00.000-08:00

This episode finds us visiting Gay Paris, capital of France, meeting Matt Preston in some pub toilets in London and getting you the top tips on gourmet culture en Paris by remote control.

Paris. What do you think of when I say that magical word? Hilton? The Iliad? Don’t be ridiculous. I’m talking about the city, la ville. Tsk. What are you like?

The Red Balloon (Le Ballon Rouge) ? That’s better. Monumental walks, that go on forever (perhaps you should have hired une bicyclette)? Large flocks of Americans at the Louvre looking for the Mona Lisa and the Da Vinci code? Maybe even hobos in phone boxes, sleeping on Metro exhaust grates to stop freezing in winter and cooking food in shopping trolleys?

That’s strange. Me too!

But there’s so much more. Food. Art. Fashion. Fancy ladies. People wearing lots of mushroom and brown. Neckerchiefs! Gerard Depardieu everywhere!! These things too await you in the world capital of “oh la la.”

We stayed in “gay Marais”, though on closer inspection we were closer to Temple than the Seine, on the Rue Notre Dame de Nazareth, and the people there didn’t seem happy so much as cold and exhibiting a particular penchant for crotchless lederhosen. We were, however, a short walk from the Pompidou Center, surrounded by spaghetti Metro lines and found ourselves in a pretty amenable part of town.

Apres Lyon, I had, to put it mildly, a jaded palate. Since we were there for a few days, and had a kitchen, I made more than a passing acquaintance with their supermarches. Monoprix(es) are everywhere, and did a very palatable line in pate en croute, stinky cheeses, saucisons and had wine aisles that were full of French wine (!), to which I dedicated thorough study. Needless to say, not all French wine is good wine, but their mid-price Côtes de Rhone Villages, at around 13 Euro, were knock out value.

Champagne Tours
While en Paris it had been a dream of mine to visit the champagne district, particularly with Blue Vapours relationship with the French studies department at the University of Melbourne (Hello Dr Jacqueline!) and Veuve Cliquot.

But since a day tour was 160 Euro, only took in a couple of wineries, and a decent bottle of bubbles like Mumm demands a mere 30 Euros or so, I decided to acquaint myself with champagne if not in body at least in sp… wine (spumante? - Ed).

If you want to find out about the champagne region, stay there for a few days. If you’d like to take a winery tour, however, check out:
http://www.parischampagnetour.com/

Paris was the business end of our trip, where we met our French contact in IT application roll out and financing Peter Savaas, who we were put on to by Austrade (Hi Peter!). Not only was he a font of knowledge on Parisian culture and the IT scene en Francaise, he also had some fantastic tips for where to go in Paris.

Paris Beaubourg
Place Igor Stravinsky

We met Peter at a bar outside the Pompidou Centre (which is itself a great place to pick up art chicks – see ‘the Official Slacker’s Handbook’). The bar is on a small square with a fountain featuring dada-esque sculptures, murals and Michael Jackson mimes. A very nice spot to drink beers as the sun goes down in the heart of happening town.
http://www.centrepompidou.fr/

Six tentacles.

MARAISE
Café Charlot
38 Rue de Bretagne, 75003 Paris
http://www.cafecharlotparis.com/

This restaurant was recommended to us by Peter and was a ten minute walk from where we were staying. Located in an old bakery, it was frequented by a lot of locals. It was, in a word, great. Bustling with patrons, people even had the foresight to put little dogs under their tables. I ordered the most French things I could spot on the menu since we went there on our last night; pate de fois gras on toast, followed by Steak Tartare.

The waiter looked at me strangely:
“Are you sure?”
“I… think so.”
“Oh well.”

I should have known. By the time I’d finished the pate, I was not only full but water proof from lip to my nether regions internally.

Then the steak came, a lump of mince as big as both of my fists combined. Huge! And raw. I got about half way through and “that’s all she wrote.” While the small dogs at surrounding tables looked at me piteously, the extreme richness of their food prohibited their owners letting me feed it to them… no matter how much I begged.

Seven tentacles out of eight!

L’Entrecôte
Peter also told us about L’Entrecote. Apparently, accoridng to Wiki, L'Entrecôte is the nickname of the restaurant Le Relais de Venise – L'Entrecôte, founded by Paul Gineste de Saurs in Paris's 17th arrondissement near Porte Maillot. I think this MAY be it (correct me if I’m wrong Peter!):
http://www.relaisentrecote.fr/

It had previously had a limited menu, but ninety percent of people used to order the same thing – the steak. Now, two generations later, all they do is steak with pommes frites. As you line up for a seat the only choice you get is rare, medium or well done. Who would ever have thought that steak and chips would be a popular menu item?

Obviously, our trip to Europe wasn’t all play (take note Australian Taxation Office!). We zooshed over to London on the Eurostar (five tentacles) to visit the British Museum on a strictly hush hush job we’re working on for the Melbourne Museum that’s coming out in 2012! But, can you believe it, while I was there, I learnt some more things about Paris’ food scene! But first, some celebrity spotting…

London, England!
Wossy!
We arrived under the enormous Olympic rings of St Pancras, and walking to the Museum spotted a fantastic old, black Bentley convertible driving with the top down in five degree temperatures. Closer scrutiny revealed it to be driven by none other than Jonnathon Ross, celebrity television and radio host in the UK. He went on to stall his car in the intersection - he must have noticed me noticing him and choked under the pressure. But our star spotting didn’t end there!

Matt Preston – Mr Master Chef gives us his five bobs worth after spending a penny!
For lunch we went to Soho, and settled on the Coach and Horses.
http://www.coachandhorsessoho.co.uk

I tried three cask ales:
* the Gangly Ghoul (a toffee like dark ale);
* London ale (nice, easy drinking); and,
* Green Man IPA (“Indian Pale Ale” – I never knew! - not much chop).

These drinks combined to wash down some palatable fish and chips with mushy peas and is almost unworthy of mention... until we had the second celebrity spot of the day.

“Oh look, there goes Matt Preston, the guy with the cravat from Master Chef,” Jane said from her window seat. “Hang on, he’s coming back!”
The man himself came into the pub and made directly for the toilets. I decided to talk to him as he returned.
“Mr Preston! I hope you’re going to buy a drink and not use the facilities for free?”

He stopped and chatted with us, and was really quite charming. He was on his way to a TV meeting, and was very interested to hear we’d seen Jonnathon Ross (“Where???”), and commented it pretty much put their relative celebrity in proportion: Wossy stalling a convertible Bentley, him sneaking in for a free piss down the pub.

When we told Matt we were staying in Paris, he was full of great tips:

“Ah, you’ll have to look up this Australian woman’s tours of French bakeries. It’s a hundred pounds but absolutely worth it. Called UTE bakery tours.”

Here’s a link, but I see she’ll take you on a tour of anything you like:
http://www.uteinparis.com/WELCOME__.html

He followed it with another tip:
“If you don’t manage that, there’s this gorgeous bakery you have got to try at the edge of the twentieth arondisement. It’s called “of bread, of ideas or something.” Here’s the site:
http://dupainetdesidees.com/

So he did pay for his wee after all, and I pass on to you what Matt Preston passed on to us after passing water. (Hello Matt if you’re reading this!).

One train trip later, we were facing our last day in Paris. But what to do?

MONTMATRE
Mont Matre, where else? It is the highest point in Paris, though admittedly too far away from the beating heart to give you an impressive view.

But it’s a tourist hot spot of food, architecture and art! It’s a long held bastion of artists – who are now all up there begging you to do a portrait or a caricature for only a few Euros (I remember when you could be franc with them).

“I am going to do your portrait.”
“No you’re not.”
“Mais oui, I’m already sketching.”
“I am walking away…”
“The best depiction of a retreating head I have ever done! You, madame, I am doing your portrait…” etc.

This is also the area, however, where they filmed Amelie.
Amélie film location
Café des 2 Moulins
Montmartre, Paris

We thought we’d swan up there, dig the Amelie scene and buy some tourist trinkets for our return and had a very nice time.

Cafe Chappe
8 Rue Tardieu 75018 Paris

We went for our last supper in a café that, on photo, looked similar to that whole Amelie scenario, both enjoying a lunch of the salads that the French do so well. Combined with a rosé, the meal was a fitting finish to our trip and well rounded with a pastis and black coffee.

Six tentacles.

So, bievenue Francaise, and merci beaucoup to you, you lovely person you, for sampling my humble ripailles d’Europe. A short hiatus in entries, as I’m now desperately putting the final touches on a short film for Tropfest, titled La Bicyclette. Never fear though, as I still think you are just wonderful and will send you some summer time eating reads in January! Have a great Christmas and a happy New Year! Au bientot! (your friend) Kit ///

Lyon: The Two Faces of Food.

2011-12-05T16:04:00.000-08:00

From Arles we travel North, via train past lush farms and nuclear power plants covered in paintings of children on the beach, to the culinary capital of “die Welt”. It’s here that Kit keeps running into Paul Bocuse, cream, and discovers that there’s more to food than meets the eye…

Lyon: cosmopolitan, rich, sunnier than Paris. Statuesque ebony women walk by in haute couture, rubbing shoulders with young men sporting military hair cuts and hip hop track suits, traditional old men in flat caps and women in brown scarves. This buzzing metropolis may not be the political capital of France, but it’s definitely the gastronomic capital of a country obsessed with food.

After the sleepy back waters we’d been travelling in, I was google eyed and licking my lips in anticipation of the delights that awaited us. All I could think was “Maitenant nous parlons, baby!”

Gastronomically, Lyon sits firmly north of the olive oil equator: i.e. everything comes in animal fat of one type or another. I also discovered one completely surprising thing about this gastro-capital. There are two types of food in Lyon (gasp!).

There’s the real type; with local markets, and friendly and cheap little restaurants the locals use (possibly with a preponderance of offal).

Then there’s the “theme park” Lyon eating scene, which is like going to Disneyland with a food theme that features cream and heavy going four courses. Painted harlot tourist restaurants ply their wares loudly on the strips, gathered together en force, shouting to jaded tourists “come into my palour”.

It kept reminding me of Luka in Cagliari saying: “Well, you could go to the touristy places, or you could go to a place that I’d eat”. And that pretty sums up the restaurant scene here.

GEOGRAPHY
First a quick thumbnail of the town itself. Sprawling in size, at the centre lies the ancient seat of Rome in Gaul on a hill (Languedoc), which was later the habitué of silk merchants in the Renaissance. Beside the old town lies a thriving retail and central business district sandwiched between the Saône and Rhône Rivers. Finally, there’s the new retail section in Part Dieu, around the main railway station next to which is a huge retail shopping centre akin to Chadstone.

There’s a palpable ebb and flow to Lyon society over the week, which climaxes with the mad bustle of Saturday shopping in the city. This gives way to leisurely markets on the river on a Sunday morning, the Sunday afternoon stroll around scenic areas, then the complete shut down of the city on a Sunday evening (“a proper Sunday” – as Anthonie at La Niche would describe it). Then it’s back to business as usual during the week, with the build up to Saturday.

PAUL BOCUSE
How can you write a gourmet’s journey to Lyon without at least mentioning Paul Bocuse? Pardonez moi, mais ce n’est pas possiblement. Basically, Paul Bocuse owns Lyon.

Paul Bocuse is THE celebrity chef of the town. Avuncular, ancient (now in his mid-eighties), jovial, rich beyond the dreams of mere mortals, he made his name as a leading light in nouvelle cuisine, has cooked for Presidents and has been awarded the title ‘Chef of the Century.’

I first heard of Paul Bocuse through the Victorian Executive chefs’ organisation ‘Les Toques Blanches’, who sponsor and train a student to compete in the Bocuse D’Or, the world’s top chef competition.

His Michelin starred restaurant is located outside central Lyon. Those wishing to make a pilgrimage to the great man’s restaurant will need to take a trip by boat or road half an hour up the river. Apparently, he no longer ACTUALLY cooks there, but does come out and do hand shakes and photos with patrons.

Bocuse also has his own market in Part Dieu. I recall watching Maeve O’Meara’s terrific show French Food Safari (avec Guillame Brahimi), where they visited Lyon and “happened” to run into Paul Bocuse at the market. This should have been no surprise, since the man is a media machine and it is one of his private business affairs. Plus they rang ahead.

Want to find out more about the enigma? Visit his official site!
http://www.bocuse.fr

I leave it to you to decide which face of food Bocuse represents (see above).

THE MARKETS
On Sundays, there are markets – real markets - on either bank of the Saône.

On one side of the river lies the art market. Artists could variously be typified as:
“Oi make things out of wire, me!”
or
“Yeah hi, I’m a serious artist and would love to do your portrait if you could come to my studio… Oh her? She’s just my girlfriend, but don’t worry, it’s all art. You’ve got a great form for paint…”
or
“Hats! I’m just batty about felt hats!”

On the other side of the Saône on the Quai Saint Antoine lies a fresh produce market, which is absolutely amazing: chickens on rotisseries, goats cheese sellers, bakers, fresh fruit and vegetables, those yellow skinned chickens with the heads still on, ducks, oysters, you name it, it was there.

The produce market gets eight tentacles out of eight in my squidzy review scale (my first ever). French people, French food, a Francophile (moi), cheap, outdoors, beautiful. I felt like I’d died and gone to heaven.

BOUCHONS
There are signs on every second restaurant reading “original bouchon”, so I thought I’d better look it up just so I knew what was going on:

From Wikipedia:
The tradition of bouchons came from small inns visited by silk workers passing through Lyon in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

According to the dictionary Le petit Robert, this name derives from the 16th century expression for a bunch of twisted straw.[1] A representation of such bundles began to appear on signs to designate the restaurants and, by metonymy, the restaurants themselves became known as bouchons. The more common use of "bouchons" as a stopper or cork at the mouth of a bottle, and its derivatives, have a different etymology.

Since 1997, Pierre Grison and his organization, L'Association de défense des bouchons lyonnais (The Association for the Preservation of Lyonnais Bouchons), bestow annual certifications to restaurants as "authentic" bouchons.[2] These restaurants receive the title Les Authentiques Bouchons Lyonnais and are identified with a sticker showing the marionette Gnafron, a Lyonnais symbol of the pleasures of dining, with a glass of wine in one hand and a napkin bearing the Lyon crest in the other.[3]

The following list, subject to some fluctuation as the certification is bestowed annually, contains most of the certified bouchons: Abel, Brunet, Café des deux places, Café des fédérations, Chabert et fils, Daniel et Denise, Chez Georges le petit bouchon, Les gones, Hugon, Le Jura, Chez Marcelle, Le Mercière, La mère Jean, Le mitonné, Le Morgon, Le musée, Chez Paul, Les Trois Maries, A ma vigne, and Le Vivarais.[3]

Here are some reviews of places we went to that rate a mention. None have websites (quel dommage!), so you’ll just have to take my word for it.

Les Enfants Terrible
58 Rue Merciere, 2nd, Lyon, France
Tel: 04 7842 8813

Disneyland, here we come! Our first dinner was at a little restaurant around the corner, in the midst of many amazing looking restaurants, called ‘Les Enfants Terribles’. I opted for the Menu Gatromonique. From the various choices, I ended up with:
* snails and mushrooms, cooked in cream;
* steak with truffle infused cream and daubes of fois gras;
* my choice of cheese, which ended up being the stinkiest of drippy stinky cheeses; and finally,
* sliced pineapple (I begged for forgiveness from the waiter, and he brought it to me in the shape of my dessert).

I arrived back to our room as full as the proverbial. A strong six and a half tentacles with a recommended dose of antacid powder, Metamucil and a possible colonoscopy or heart bypass chaser.

Le Musee
2 Rue des Forces 69002 Lyon
Tel : 04 7837 7154

Le Musee – rated a marionette bouchon, was the top rated restaurant in Lyon by Trip Adviser. It was shut when we tried our luck. It was small, unpresupposing, and looked kind of homely, completely unlike the other larger more touristy restaurants nearby.

I suspect high tentacles and would recommend it to anyone who wants to go to a bouchon…

L’epicerie – Bistrot à tartines
2 Rue Monnaie, 69002 Lyon, France
Tel: 04 7837 7085

Frequented by young uni types, l’epicerie is a bistrot that specialises in “tartines”: basically toast with toppings, that you have with a salad and chase down with a dessert and coffee. It’s cheap as chips.

They had a couple of soups, and very French drinks (pastis, Cinzano cocktails), etc. It was simple and excellent. Jane had a chicken coleslaw on toast (with corn and mayonnaise), I had the pork spread traditional with cornichons, and we shared a green salad, half bottle of rosé, and washed down the lot with a coffee, and fantastic tart with cherries and blackberries, and a calvados.

The really nice thing here was the atmosphere: great service, young and upbeat, and a young, skinny, and local crowd – it felt more like what you would expect a bouchon to be. Cheap, friendly, warm, local and traditional.

Pukka. Six tentacles, an extra tentacle for the laissez faire environment, and a great idea for anyone thinking of opening a restaurant here in Melbourne.

So, sated (and with colds), we packed our bags and fell toward the finish line of our trip, Paris, trundling our bags onto the Metro and departing to the ‘Fuck You!’-s of a beggar (I told you it was a cosmopolitan city).

Next episode: Gay Paris, Capital of France!

Eau d’Arles? Oh, Darls!

2011-11-28T16:28:00.000-08:00

In our last installment, we were in Alghero, in the north of Sardinia. From that Mediterranean island jewel we travel now, on Ryan Air bizness class (innit? – five knicker extra!), to Francaise, the home of “haute”, “nouvelle”, and “lean” cuisine. We landed in the famous port of Marseilles, drug importation capital of France… and then quickly clicked up the train line a few kilometers to the west to find ourselves in Arles.

“Bonjour! Ca va? C’est bon! Et moi? Tres bien, merci!”

At last we’d arrived, en Francaise. Did I ever tell you I’m a Francophile, particularly when it comes to food? Mais non? Bien sur, certainment!

France. Home of “viva” and “la”. Birthplace of Asterix and Gerard Depardiou. Repository of baguettes, and inspiration for great songs like “Fou de Fa Fa”. I was rapt.

Unfortunately, my year ten French was indecipherable to most native French people. I’d say “Bonjour” and nearly everyone would reply “How can I help you, M’sieur?” or just do the traditional lip spurt while holding their hands up, elbows “akimbo” (def: touching their hips - take note Age journalists).

Arles
Our first stop was Arles, en Provence. Picasso was a fan of Arles, probably because of the strong Catalan influence (an influence we spotted in Sardinia). There are Catalan colours in the Provence shield. They also have a strong bull fighting culture with bull fighting bars - showing bull fights on screen – and in the old town the ancient forum is used today for bull fighting.

Arles bullfighting is different from the Spanish style; they don’t kill the bull in the arena but pluck rosettes from its shoulders with pitchforks instead. After THAT they go out the back, kill it and have a steak dinner.

Speaking of famous artists and Arles, there’s a museum to Van Gogh in a former lunatic asylum where he was locked up. I’m not sure how much a mental sanatorium contributed to the career of a painter who ate lead based paints, but years after he was dead and famous, they built a temple to him (just like Jesus and the Romans!).

As a centre for famous artists, there’s a strong arts tradition in Arles, with art shops, art museums and a stack of arty graffiti that would make Banksy proud. But a strong art history also means something else. Retired Americans!

Flocks and flocks of people in their retirement years are lead around ancient sites by people waving hankies in the air, a daytime tourist crowd that disappears at night. There’s a reason older people are drawn to these destinations. They’re sick of doing it tough and just want the highlights. Well, if that’s your taste, you’ll love Arles as it has it all; luxury, taste and ease.

Our Hotel – Le Calandal

Jane did an excellent job as tour guide operator, and booked us into Le Calandal, un hotel connected to a day spa which was based on an ancient Roman bath with modern facilities (wet sauna, massages, giant spa pool, etc.). It was located smack dab in the centre of the old town, and the giant spa looks out on the forum. The pool is just like a James Bond set.

The hotel itself was old with incredibly thick walls; we had a three-foot deep windowsill. It’s a real rabbit warren, a kind of amalgam of different buildings. The corridors are windy, and we had to go up two flights of stairs, round a corner, and down another flight to get to our room, a bit like the University of Melbourne Club (hello Melbs!).

Like the rest of Arles old town, the clientele were predominantly in their seventies, and there for the lymphatic drainage and some wine.

I sat making these notes in our yellow room, the Provencal style window open, listening to children play at a local school (it sounded like a riot going on at the zoo), replaced by somebody very competently busking with a saxophone.

The Calandal has a good restaurant which serves lunch. The menu positioned itself as a macro-biotic-organic restaurant. In the courtyard garden I had the lamb salad (meat too tough, but tasty), a bottle of red, finished with a coffee, Calvados, and a “gourmet café” dessert which included a coffee ice cream, and some various other cakes including a macaroon (a dessert which is WAY to trendy these days by half, a treatise for another entry).

The lunch? A five and a half tentacles out of eight.

Want to see more? Visit:

http://www.lecalendal.com/

Food
There are hundreds of restaurants in Arles. But not THAT many good ones; I recall seeing the word Pizzeria a few too many times for comfort.

Arles is famous for its salt; it’s in close proximity to giant salt farms on marshy land to the west where French cowboys roam (assumedly rustling salt). Gourmet salts are sold profligately everywhere. I wanted some as gifts, but decided to wait till I got to Lyon or Paris. Don’t make the same mistake. It’s most easily found at the source.

So, where else did we eat?

L’Andaluz
A matador themed restaurant, so I chose the steak. The meat was too tough (again); it had been machined, not enough, but was still wonderfully tasty. It came with potato gratin (fantastic), mediterranean veg, and a simple green salad. Jane had a creamy chicken dish, and commented:
‘I should start my own journal and write: “Today I finally got to eat chicken”.’ (…which was all she wrote in her journal on our back packing trip in our twenties).

I couldn’t eat it all, but insisted on a coffee, a pastis (Ricard), and some lovely mini desserts that came as a selection.

Five tentacles out of eight.

http://www.tripadvisor.com/Restaurant_Review-g187211-d1325866-Reviews-L_Andaluz-Arles_Bouches_du_Rhone_Provence.html

Lou Caleu
We had dinner at Lou Caleau, the most authentic restaurant among a clutch of bistros in an old town back street near a convent, where we talked to two retired Edinburgh teachers for an hour who lolly gagged around after they’d finished dinner to have someone else to talk to.

You get a bit fatigued only having the same person to talk to in your own language, so it must have come as a relief for them to have someone else to talk to (I, of course, always had you, dear reader). They were a nice couple, but again this demonstrates the kind of feel of the whole place.

I had the tourist menu, choosing the bouillabaisse style soup (blended, i.e. without any “chunks” of fish), into which you immersed small pieces of toast with an orange sauce and cheese. This was followed by the best rabbit I ever ate, the usual gratin and mediterranean veg, chased down by a bottle of white wine, then a “Baba” desert swimming in a pool of Grand Marnier with coffee.

A strong six and a half tentacles out of eight.

http://www.provence-hideaway.com/602.html

Petite Dejeuner?
A last note. We went to a creperie as we had a while till the train came to take us to Lyon. The guy behind the counter, when I asked him “ca va?”, shrugged and pointed around him, as if to say, “well, I’m still here”.

I asked him for petite dejeneur.
He was sorry, they didn’t have any croissants.
I asked him if they did crepes?
He asked his wife, who was having a conversation beside the counter to another woman, and she snapped “non”. He replied “in about fifteen minutes”.
How about some coffees then?
He thought about that for a while, and then decided that should be OK.

Phew! They managed to turn away another four tourists while we were there - they have a creperie that doesn’t make crepes opposite the forum. Basille Faughlty? One tentacle out of eight… with a view of the forum.

But hang up your hassles with you hair, my friends, we were heading off to the gastronomic capital of France, if not the planet.

Next episode: Lyon… Maintenant nous parlons, baby!

Alghero – Something Fishy in the Air! (Hooray!!)

2011-11-21T20:12:00.000-08:00

Alghero! Seat of Catalonian culture in Sardinia, ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ themed lolly shops and an old town for pedestrians only. It’s also home to a massive marina loaded with millionaires’ toys, and features old men gathered in huddles on the broad boardwalks under palm trees doing absolutely nothing but talking.

The Costa Smerelda (Emerald Coast) on the north east coast is the place for the rich and famous (obviously we didn’t go there since we weren’t qualified), whereas Alghero is more the main port historically you needed to invade to take over the entire island.

Located in the north west corner of Sardinia, Alghero is the gateway port to fabulous islands and beaches, and is famed for the seafood which feeds off the constant ring of seaweed that grows outside the town (P-ew!) and may be the basis of the town’s name (Alghero, “the place of algae or seaweed”, don’t ask me what languages, like everywhere in Sardinia, everyone’s been here…).

Shall we take a dip?

I went for a swim on the local city beach a fifteen minute stroll down the road, nice but a bit too sea weedy and loaded with people with dark, tanned skins that looked a bit like handbags. Further up the coast beckon crystal clear waters, while tour boats offer day-long adventures to isolated beaches where you can escape the volleyball and on beach cafes with hire recliners.

The further you go from the old town, the more you run into our old friends “the abandoned properties of Sardinia” – this is a place looking for canny and far sighted investors.

Alghero was also where we found Jane’s much looked for iconic Sardinian chicken crockery and where I bought one of their famous handmade knives which is an absolute demon at slicing salami. Ask me for a demonstration!

The Old Town
A word of warning to those driving to Alghero: if you stay in the old town (recommended), you can’t drive your car in. We got as close to the walking district as we could, and found ourselves driving around in circles down little lanes through wandering herds of tourists with cameras, and driving multiple times past the same old man standing on a corner. With no map of the town, or an address of where we were staying, we parked near the sea and did a wiggly walk into the old town, where I heard the magic words:

“I know this square, I’ve seen it on Google Maps!”

God bless the internet (I never thought I’d write those words)! Then we found the building, and rang the bell!

Our Hotel
No answer. That was a low point. You know when you’re really tired? Like getting off an international plane when you expect there to be a driver to pick you up and they’re not there? It was one of those moments. We had about ten Euros between us, the car was miles away, no phone card, no phone, and no pen to write down the number to have someone come and let us in to our room. If I’d been twenty years younger, I would have collapsed, drunk heavily and then found the nearest backpackers and booked in there.

However, with some basic compass orientation we worked out where the car was, got a parking spot outside the battlement walls (about twenty metres) from where we were staying (despite there being double parked cars everywhere), bought a ticket from a ticket officer to leave the car there all night, got a pen, got the number, found a phone booth, and called “the guy” Giovanni. Giovanni was very slick, with white teeth and brilliantined doormat hair which made me immediately suspicious of Don-Lane-like extra-curricular activities. Ten minutes later we were in, showered and enjoying a glass of wine in what I’d have to say was one of the most excellent B&B’s I’ve ever been to. You can visit it at:

http://www.bblaterrazzasulportoalghero.it/home-en.html

Note: The next morning moving the car I was approached by a suit wearing Italian-speaking Jehovah’s Witness, so it was nice to know we’d finally arrived at an international locale: even the JW’s have got it on the map.

Alghero Cuisine – Seafood Specialities Ahoy!
As a Catalan influenced fishing port - distinct from wider Sardinia with its goats, cheeses, and kidnapping midgets - there are a number of fish dishes specialised to the town. These include:

Allada de peix: a red sauce made from tomatoes, garlic, and chilies, cooled and poured over small fried fish.
Capunada: a fisherman’s lunch featuring a potato and cucumber salad with softened salted fish and fresh tuna.
Cassola de Peix: a local fish soup with fried octopus, dried tomatoes, ground garlic and parsley base to which fish, crabs and whatever else they’ve caught is added. Served with toasted or day old bread soaked in the sauce.
Bogamari: local sea urchins, raw with bread and wine or served with pasta.
General grilled fish: whole or in steaks.

A Quick Word on Bread at Table with Olive Oil
I like bread. I like Italian and French breads. I like bread on the table while I’m waiting for the waiter (how aptly named) to bring me my food. And I love it with olive oil and some fancy salt on the side to wiggle it in. May I make a note here, if you are similarly inclined, that nowhere in France or Italy, at the high or low-end restaurants we visited, did I have one place serve olive oil with the bread. How disappointing, and a big tick to Melbourne!

Dining
We were in town for only a couple of days, but visited the restaurants recommended to us by Giovanni (always get a local’s advice then follow your nose), who recommended we avoid the port and stick to the old town for food.

Osteria Machiavello
Our first stop was to plunder (“Arrrrrr”) a seafood dinner at ‘Osteria Machiavello’. It was one of the first places I spotted on our walks along the battlement walls next to the sea and I was delighted to hear it recommended to us.

The staff were old school pros, but not chatty and bright – we had a grumpy old guy and a girl who wouldn’t know a joke if it bit her on the bum – but the seafood was excellent with an antipasto misto di mare, featuring most of the dishes listed above, followed by a whole grilled catch of the day which I cleaned myself having watched one of the waiters do it for some Germans at the next table. This was all washed down with a bottle of Sardinian white and coffee and liqueurs – I think Jane had a mirto.

Top marks for food and views, a deduction for stuffy waiters, I give it six and a half tentacles out of eight. There was even a wandering accordionist!

http://www.osteriamacchiavello.it/

Martini con olive?
The next night before dinner we tried to hold off going to a restaurant until a normal time (locals tend not to eat until after nine), so had an aperitif at a small café and read the Italian newspapers: Italy qualified for the European Cup by beating Northern Ireland 3-0 (who said “mi non parla Italiano, e tempo de vai, e questo con trove?”).

I ordered a vodka martini, reminiscing about the excellent one I had in Cagliari. When I asked the man at the bar if he made them, he smiled and said “si, una vodkatini!’ I asked for it “con olive” and it promptly arrived with a peel of lemon in it, with a side order of olives (!), but was excellent in every way.

Posada del Mar
In spite of the time wasting, we were still too early for tea (the worms were biting), so went to eat shortly after eight regardless, ahead of even the German tourists. The shame!

On the Via Roma, the Posada del Mar is, compared to Machiavello, a simple restaurant that still covers the local specialities (e.g. octopus in ink, squid in tomato sauce, etc.) and has a nice local feel inside. I had the pasta with scallops and eggplant, and would have taken the tourist menu, but we would have been there all night.

We found out the name of the home made semolina pasta as made by Angela at the farm stay – Malloreddus (a bit like a semolina gnocchi usually served in a tomato and sausage sauce); which Jane commented was very close to malodorous. At the time I thought she meant it was similar to another Italian word, but it transpired she was referring to an English one, which is often used in relation to yours truly!

Tasty, friendly, not too shabby, I give it a five and a half tentacle squidzy review. Visit it at:
http://www.posadadelmar.it/

Like to find out more?
It’s easy! Literally. They’ve got a magazine guide to Alghero called “easy alghero”. You can check it out online (the English is not as good as in the hard copy) at:

http://www.easyalghero.it/en

Next Stop: Francaise et Arles! May the Francophilia Commence!

Agriturismi: or How to Get My Goat!

2011-11-14T22:39:00.000-08:00

You May recall in our last adventure, we were in Cagliari. This article takes us for a drive up through Sardinia to the mountains and the sea for a stay with goats and farmers while scoffing the local produce.

Before going to Sardinia, Jane did thorough research and wanted a true Sardinian holiday; to stay in the mountains and to look at goats.

Who was I to argue? She was booking the trip and you do get to eat authentic local cuisine, so I was all ears (or should I say “all tongue?”… and enough with the rude comments).

The Italian government has been encouraging farmers to engage in agritourism to develop their tourism industry, and farm stay holidays have become highly popular for those travelling to Italy. My friend Owen (“Hi Owen!”) was staying in Tuscany at a farm two weeks before we left, so if we’ve both been doing it, you know it’s dead-set trendy.

But first we had to get there… cue car hire and several near-death experiences.

Nuraghe Su Nuraxi
On the drive north, we took a detour to see Sardinia’s largest existing Nuragic structure, Nuraghe “Su Nuraxi” – or “Nuraghe of the Nuraghe” (a mix of Italian and Sardinian languages here). I am convinced these ancient monuments are in such terrible repair because farmers and builders in surrounding fields have simply pinched the stone to make walls to hold in goats or to build their terrazzos overlooking the valleys.

Still, you could feel the spirit of the ancient Nuraghic people as we walked around the site: huddled in their giant stone conical tower, defending their well, praying the grain store would hold out until the pillagers grew bored, and picking lice out of their clothes (it wasn’t much of a spirit).

The tour was in Italian, so thank heavens we had our guidebook as well as having previously visited the archaeological museum. I could follow the talk, and I really can’t sprekken Italian (much)!

What You’d Typically Eat…
We had lunch near Su Nuraxi at a restaurant that was full of locals out on a Sunday drive. The building had “pizzeria” written on the roof and a whole page of pizzas listed in the menu, so Jane asked for a pizza. Apparently no pizza was available. Our waitress told us what you’d “typically have”, which is more common in Sardinia than you’d think.

Which leads me to this observation: Instead of a menu being a list of what’s for sale, it’s more a list of what a ristorante can make, or the staff know how to make, some of which may be available – depending on whether they can be bothered, or have the ingredients.

I asked for the tourist menu, which simplified things extraordinarily, but did mean you didn’t get much in the way of trimmings; a salad made of shredded iceberg lettuce only with your osso bucco, and an entrée of fraggole - a simple Sardinian pasta with mushrooms and cheese. Peasant food that was filling, tasty and swelled in your stomach when you drank liquids.

DRIVING AND ARRIVAL
The drive to our agriturismo was breath-taking. “Honestly, Kit?” I hear you think. “Breath taking?” Well, yes. In a number of ways.

First, the hair-pin turns and huge drops over the edge as you drive into the mountains make you gasp. We passed an abandoned silver mine near Montevecchio, with smashed windows and its concrete structures tumbling down the mountain sides, having to drive under its crumbling frame. Breath-taking!

To get to our farm, we also had to drive on narrow roads with Italian drivers coming the other way, then dirt tracks with goats on them, coming over the hills. Breath-taking!

Finally, on arrival, there was a large group of locals leaving a huge Sunday lunch (or collazione Domenica), and our hosts were kind enough to offer us a drink on arrival. I had the aqua vita. Breath-taking!

THE FARM
About a quarter of the way up Sardinia near the west coast, we stayed at Oasi del Cervo (Oasis of the Deer), which is located in the Medio Campidano region. It’s located near the Sardinian town of Montevecchio (the Old Mountain).

Montevecchio, once quite prosperous when the mine was running, has little mining carts and memorabilia out on the street. Now there’s little business, few people, and plenty of abandoned buildings, some of which have the roofs missing. It reminded me of Christchurch (though one twentieth the size); i.e. you can see there was a time when money was pouring in, and then one day the bottom dropped out and people just started leaving buildings empty behind them.

We were the only guests staying at the farm, and had a choice of rooms. We chose one with an authentically “Mediterranean” floral bed spread and amazing views out the window over mountains, rolling valleys, and the sea. We woke to the sound of goat bells going to be milked and the calls of birds, the sunsets fell over the sea, and the air positively smacked of bucolic tranquility.

The farm is home to numerous dogs of all shapes and colours, who are very friendly and accompanied us on walks to look outs. Our hosts, Angela and Giuseppe, were a couple with grown up children. Giuseppe works on the farm while Angela looks after the agristurismo side of things, cooking and cleaning, etc. They were both very welcoming and Angela was the life of the party.

CUCINA DELLA FATTORIA
Angela had done a qualification in baking (or “bake-ology”, I forget which) meaning there were custard doughnuts, tarts, and various other baked goods packing out breakfast and dinner menus.

Dinners were slightly more challenging than breakfasts: with the two of us sitting up at the table with Giuseppe, while Angela cooked in her massive kitchen and came and went with dishes, occasionally popping her head in to watch TV. We struggled through conversation, using Jane’s Italian, mime, and a phone dictionary, which was effective but exhausting.

For dinners we started with an antipasto of vegetables in a light tomato sauce (carrots, peppers, celery), as well as olives, salami, crusty bread and fried eggplant in breadcrumbs that was simply delicious and the winner of the whole meal.

I will be including a recipe for crumbed eggplant with my newspaper article, but the secret is to slice the eggplant very thinly (Angela used a motorised deli slicer), crumb it with egg and bread crumbs (mixed with polenta, pepper and herbs) and fry in olive oil.

The main courses on the first night were a home made semolina pasta with chunks of meat from a wild boar Giuseppe had shot with his 22 calibre rifle, followed by roast piglet with a simple green salad. All washed down with a jug of rough red wine.

The second night’s dinner featured the same entrees, followed by freggola with mushrooms and meat (there is a variant with fish), and finally roast goat, washed down with aqua vita at the end. We were spared a long conversation with Giuseppe as it was action night on television and we sat up and watched Texas Ranger followed by a Steven Segal movie with Italian overdub. Much hilarity ensued after every kiss when I would declaim ‘Non che credo!’ (I don’t believe it). Who says “non habla Italiano”?

BEACHES AND GHOST TOWNS
We drove to the nearby coast while staying at the farm, passing cycling groups and driving across creeks, before arriving at a beach with little cabanas and a hotel built right on the sand called ‘the Dunes’. This is the area where they shot the ‘Black Stallion’, and the coast is very nice – but, coming from Australia, it’s hard to compete. We walked a fair way looking for somewhere safe to swim, since the sand dropped and the waves were closing out where they’d set up the snack shacks and umbrellas. It was extremely hairy; on the west coast there’s nothing between you and Spain, so there was a bit of a swell, but there was an uneven bottom.

Speaking of extremely hairy and uneven bottoms, we walked past a blonde and tanned couple in the nude who smiled at us. We’d accidentally ventured onto the naturists’ beach, and they looked like Adam and Eve on a Metamucil ad. I could just imagine them saying (in German) “I can’t believe I had to go all the way to Sardinia just to be myself” while they enjoyed natural yoghurt and wheat germ for breakfast.

Further down the coast we ran into ghost tourist towns, collections of beautiful buildings that were completely abandoned. We were there on the shoulder season, and it was a Monday, but there was nobody around.

Feeling peckish we headed inland towards larger towns for lunch, but guess what? Everything shuts between 13.30 and 16:30. We drove from town to town, finding shutter after shutter down– restaurants, supermarkets, everything – though the streets still featured mad drivers in small cars and giant busses. On return we told Angela, our host, that everything was shut and she was appalled. Apparently, during the high tourist season, everything is open - but come September, the shutters bang down everywhere but the beach shacks.

The Cucina Score!
So my score on the Oasi del Cervo? For a couple of nights it’s pretty good. Not high food, but authentic, and accompanied by delightful hosts and stunning surrounds. Your diet might become a bit repetitive after a week, and the facilities are pretty basic, but I give it six tentacles out of eight!

To Book Your Holiday

Check out numerous agriturismi at:
http://www.agriturismo.it

Or look up the Oasis of the Deer at:
http://www.agriturismo.it/en/farmhouse/sardinia/medio_campidano/OasidelCervo-1120219/index.html

They also have their own website, but since they’re farmers it’s totally amateur hour and doesn’t tell you anything (and is in Italian)
http://www.oasidelcervo.com

Next episode: Alghero – Coast of the Millionaires!

SARDINIA PART 1 - Cagliari

2011-11-08T18:14:00.000-08:00

Sardinia. The cradle of civilization, located at a historical path of intersecting ways. The holiday retreat of Silvio Berlussconi and Johnny Depp, Sardinia is a popular European travel destination. But in Australia the first thing most people ask is “Where is it? Near Sicily?”

Kind of. Take a look at a map of the Mediterranean. Go up and to the left. See the biggest island, right in the middle of the Sea? That’s Sardinia. Once you’ve seen it, you can’t not see it.

Slap dab in the middle of the Mediterranean, close to Africa and most of Western Europe, accessible to the Middle East, Sardinia has an archaeological history that predates the Bronze Age and has the fingerprints of every major culture from the surrounding regions all over it. Civilisations have spanned through the Nuragic people and their stone fortresses (with between 6,500 – 8,000 “nuragi” ruins around the island, depending on who you talk to), up to the Phoenicians, then the Romans (Sardinia was the wheat bowl for ancient Rome), and finally Christian cultures coming through – including a dose of Catalan culture, the Aragons, and let’s not forget the modern Italian twist.

With its location and constant invasion, with locals retreating to the tops of hills and inland, traditional Sardinian food does not feature sardines, despite the name. Sardinia is more known for its goat meat, cheeses, salamis and hard breads (and goat stealing and the occasional kidnapping). The knives of Sardinia are famous: hand made, curved, and folding down into horn handles, they are perfect for slicing salami or killing someone. But that’s all in the past now.

Modern day Sardinians are a warm and welcoming people. Politically, there seems some local tension with Italy, with slogans like “Sardinia is not Italy”, and Che Guevera popular with protesting students. Cuban sympathies abound, but ultimately the economy is based on a strong tourist trade.

Modern Sardinia has a rich seafood tradition culinarally, but in the hinterland it’s still a fantasy food; almost like seafood is a luxury novelty that they run to at the seaside, knowing it could be taken away any second.

CAGLIARI

The ancient city of Cagliari – pirate port, now seaside resort, the capital of Sardinia and our first stop.

Churches abound every block and a half, raised in adulation for the miracle of not being sacked or burnt down by passing marauders. The city is also conveniently built on a steep hill, to give the inhabitants space to retreat each time they were invaded (which, by the looks of things, was a regular occurrence).

The Via Roma, the main bayside strip, runs along a port filled with commercial ferries and sailing ships, and features huge arched covered walkways filled with cafes, Italian tourists taking coffee, and the occasional protest march.

The square halfway up the hill on the Largo Carlo Felice is pretty touristy and stacked with loud bars and gaming places for kids.

At the top of the hill there is a walled city enclosed by huge fortified gates (the Elephant Gate operated as a prison for some years) and features a cathedral, numerous antique stores in old houses, a plaza with “spectaculare” views of the city, and a 1960’s modernist concrete museum district at the north end of the hill. The museum district has a free archaelogical museum that is definitely worth the visit.

In the old city generally, abandoned buildings abound, and there is a strong local movement to “Basta degrado Castello” or “Enough the degradation in Castello” (the old bit at the top).

Sitting up in the Gold Room at “the Place” we were staying (http://www.theplacecagliari.com/en.html ), making these notes, our window looked out across a lane at a wreck of a building with no roof, and a garden growing on the ground floor.

The Place had had a recent refurb, probably pinching materials from the shell across the way, and was very nicely done. The staff were also highly agreeable. As the sun went down outside on our first night there, to the sound of kids playing and speaking to their parents, the light fading down through the shell of the house opposite, I felt lucky… and on very intimate terms with our neighbours. Acoustically it was a nightmare – you could hear the man next door do up a zip, and one night a fervent couple upstairs seemed to be using a hacksaw to demolish some loose plumbing.

The main tourists to Cagliari are Italian and German, but English is the main second language so the whole EU thing is just like Eurovision. Luka, our host, told me we were only the second lot of Australians they’d had in six months.

A short bus ride gets you to the sandy beach Poetto, trawled by African émigrés selling earrings. If you arrive at the right time of year, Flamingos also nest nearby on a holiday from Africa.

But enough of the travelogue, Kit, what does the gourmet recommend?

BOOZE

Mirto: The local liqueur is called “Mirto” and is a source of considerable pride all over Sardinia. Mirto is a sweet red wine with myrtle in it. Myrtle grows wild all over the island, a scrubby white flowered plant that is probably inedible but is so prolific they had to do something with it. The taste was distinctly odd on the front of the palate, but it leaves a very nice after-taste in your mouth

DINING

PerBacco

A place recommended by our host Luka (I wonder if he lives on the second floor?) and the second highest rated restaurant by ‘Trip Advisor’ in Cagliari, Per Bacco was just around the corner from where we were staying in the old town, and we went there on the first night.

It featured authentic Sardinian food. Sardinian cuisine features a special flat bread, either dry crisped or cooked in olive oil and spun into a cone and antipasto, with prosciutto crudo, cheese, green olives and a pork salami that was just amazing; you could taste the personality of the animal it was made from (she liked eating chestnuts and rolling in the mud).

I had red shrimp in a tomato sauce, while Jane had the beef salad. Acqua minerale con gasse, due botteils, instead of booze.

The chef came out in her black chef’s hat and matching black apron to talk to all the customers. Tasty, convincingly local, and backed up by the chef, a big tick! I give it six tentacles.

http://www.enoperbacco.it/

Antico Caffe (dal 1855)

This restaurant is famous in Cagliari. Not so much a comprehensive ristorante, as a bar that does pasta and salad. It’s ambience was like walking into a Woody Allen film, with those warm colour tones and jazz; though if he ever shot anything there, there’d only be two people in the place, instead of the hundred plus in reality.

I enjoyed a vodka martini for 8 euros (around 12 bucks), followed by the seafood risotto and a salad that involved goat’s cheese, apple, celery and lettuce with a glass of house white. They threw in bruschetta and some sardinian bread, so another tick.

Not as homely as per Bacco, but buzzy, slick and popular. I give it six and a half tentacles. Check it out at www.anticocaffe1855.it

Ristorante Semplicemente

Cagliari’s top rated restaurant on Trip Advisor, Semplicemente is located in an inner suburb of Cagliari - past the botanical gardens and the hospital; kids had grafittied house walls about the “infection on society”, so I guess it was the ritzy suburb.

The streets of Cagliari are busy late on a Saturday night as people go for dinner at around 10pm, but in this strange part of town it was quiet. The restaurant was stylish – white table clothes, beautiful signage, yukka plants out the front, an open kitchen… but empty.

I whimped out on being a gastronaut in this instance. Not because I’m intimidated by poshness, but because it was empty, and going in by myself (Jane was in bed) and having a slap up meal while people watched me sitting alone in a restaurant where I can’t speak the lingua franca, without even a book for company, WAS intimidating.

Still, if you want to impress a hot and heavy date while in Cagliari, it is definitely the place for you. See it here at:

http://www.ristorantesemplicemente.com/

A Tip from the Locals: San Domenico

A footnote recommendation from Luka, San Domenico features an old lady as the cook, and is similar to Per Bacco in that it serves traditional Sardinian food, and is a very small restaurant that you might not even realize is there. You’ll need to book on a weekend night (your hotel will call for you), as the locals think it very good: San Domenico on the Via E. d’Arborea.

Naturally, as an old-lady-cook restaurant, it doesn’t have a website, but you can find out more about it at:

trip advisor

Pizza

As I walked back from the foreboding front of Ristorante Semplicemente, I returned to a pumping old town, and went past a pizza joint that had the locals queuing out on the street.

Which made me reflect. What is it that makes a great restaurant? Price? The quality of food? Sure. But popularity! Knowing you are going to the most popular place in town counts for a lot.

The pizza we ate in Cagliari was exceptional – large and overflowing the plates they were delivered on (not thin and crisp like Roman ‘Pizza a la Metro’, more crude), fantastic ingredients, usually featuring prosciutto, and ultimately cheap.

When in doubt in Italy, order the pizza (or pasta) – after all, they are experts. Still, there are only so many carbs you can eat, and I did find myself occasionally longing for a steak on the road.

And we were about to hit the road! Hiring a car and taking a driving tour of the island.

Next episode: ‘Agriturismo - Goats Ahoy!’

Rome... If You Want To!

2011-11-01T21:19:00.000-07:00

When it comes to coffee, it seems that Melbourne has overtaken Rome. Kit Fennessy meets RRR’s Johnny Topper in Tridente, where they discuss the finer points of civilization.

Rome!
That eternal city, home to the Trevi fountain, infants suckling at distended wolverine nipples and of course, that most European of all aromas… collapsed sewerage tunnels.

Our room was on the fifth floor overlooking Via Gulius Caesar, and there were plane trees along the wide avenue outside that reminded me of home.

Let’s face it, Melbourne is like Rome in many ways – we both have Italians, coffee, gelati, Catholic churches, plane tress and parks, though Rome might just pip us at the post for archaeological diggings.

I had an appointment to meet our friend Johnny Topper for lunch; a radio announcer from Melbourne who works at Northside Records in Fitzroy. Famous for his significant pauses on ‘New and Groovy’, he’s done the hard yards of the Australian music scene and has played in numerous bands, including the Pete Best Beatles. But when we met him on the Ponte Regina Margherita, he was a changed man, squinting, fumbling in front of him and bumping into things. He’d lost his glasses!

We went for lunch at the Ristorante Enzo, which felt like eating in someone’s lounge room with a lot of men in waist coats topping up your Bisleri. If not the height of culinary excellence, it was at the very least authentically Italian. I had the pasta marinara misto, and as usual it proved the litmus test for all restaurants, which in this case was average. Jane had a pasta with cheese, quite plain and her fantasy food, Topper the risotto con artichokes. The culinary revelation of the meal was the dessert which was a cake dripping in honey, alternate portions stuffed with custard and cherry.

As we reclined over coffees, thoughts turned to our observations of Rome and how it is, and is not, like good old Melbourne town.

CULTURE
Cardinal Sins
When Jane and I arrived at St Peter’s square, or la Piazza de Basillico Pietro, there were queues and police everywhere. Going in the back way, we found they were set up for a Papal mass, and so scored an unexpected audience with the Pope.

Johnny: “Oh man, back in 1983 I was living in Sydney. I couldn’t believe it, I saw the Pope mobile driving through the streets of Sydney after John Paul II’s appearances at Randwick. It was surreal. I’d be coming out of a pub, and there was the pope mobile, driving through the red light district! Two nights in a row!”

For the first time in my life I felt sorry for Cardinals. OK! I know they’re career politicians pushing a conservative agenda, BUT they did have to sit out in the sun, wearing black, waiting for the Pope to come out. Those cardinals had to sit there and bake for around two hours, then watch their boss being cheered as he rolled around the crowd in the Pope-mobile. As the Pope’s head drifted above the crowd, he reminded me of the nun in ‘the Blue Brothers’, the penguin who never seems to walk but just rolls everywhere. The Pope was dressed in white and got to sit in the shade.

Australian politicians take note! Trouble with the back benchers? Time for a public rally. Somewhere really hot.

Public Monumental Phallicism
What is it with the Italians and… enormous columns and obelisks? Everywhere we went there were massive stone erections shooting up into the sky, phallocentrism in its purest form and simpatico with Italian consciousness.

Lift your game Melbourne! With the exception of the Cheese Stick, I cannot think of a single massive pillar erected anywhere in the public forum.

Toilets
Surprisingly, there aren’t enough toilets in Rome, but more than enough churches. I wonder if it’s anything to do with the denial of the physical form and an embrace of the spiritual life that’s lead to this situation? Probably not. Still, you never see any paintings of toilets in heaven at churches… though baptismal fonts are very high profile.

Footpath traders
African men are all over the place standing around with knock off YSL leather handbags at their feet. Elsewhere, people walk around tourist districts trying to flog bubble guns, or flying saucer toys that glow in the dark and shoot up into the air.

Another area we need to improve! We might have the occasional Vietnamese woman sitting on the footpath selling her home made confectionary, but the border line begging that these sales amount to is rarely in evidence. If we just have straight begging, how can we be considered a truly international city?

I didn’t see any gypsies, despite premonitions of babies being thrown at me around the train station, a la circa 1997.

Johnny: “Berlusconi had a real campaign over here. Picked them all up and shipped them out to Romania. That’s why they used to call them Romani gypsies. I think the same thing has happened in France.”

FOOD
The Cost of Food
True of Rome, true of all Italy, and indeed France, I was surprised just how affordable food is there compared to Australia. The most expensive meal we ate on the trip came to 95 Euros, which equates to roughly $150 for a four course dinner for two, including wine in the heart of the tourist district.

In stores the cost of fresh produce was astoundingly cheap, and fresh. Alcohol? Try 17 Euros for a 700 ml bottle of Tanqueray Gin, or should I say around $23 Australian? Your taxes at work.

Crudo vs Caldo
A short note on the lingua franca. I went to a deli where we ordered prosciutto, and caused some confusion. What did we want? Prosciutto crudo or prosciutto caldo? It transpires the Italians call all hams prosciutto, the difference being the crudo (crude or salt cured ham) and caldo, or cooked, which is your more traditional “ham”. We bought both, and with cheese, olives, some bread and the remains of the bottle of chianti it made a stunning lunch.

Drinking in Parks
We walked all over the Villa Borghese, seeing (variously) the old Villa, which is now a museo with a beautiful and productive vegetable garden, caribinari on horse back, the Italian Globe Theatre, and people riding around on four seater bikes and Segues, which was highly reminiscent of ‘Arrested Development’.

We stopped and had a couple of beers in the park at a small garden shed, not as good as the Austrians do it, but pretty good. It occurs to me that there are not many drinking and dining establishments in Melbourne’s park lands, the exceptions being the café beside the Fairy Tree in the Fitzroy Gardens, the Kent Hotel next to a median strip in Carlton, and at a pinch the Sky High Restaurant in Dandenong. Take note Parks Victoria!

Dinner
An excellent dinner near la Plaza Popolo at a small ristorante where I had the grilled fish, a bottle of wine, profilterols and a coffee, and an ameretto. Jane had the pasta matriciana and a salata verde misto. Six tentacles!

Coffee:
‘You know, I’ve been here for three days, and I’ve yet to have a really good coffee,’ Johnny opined as we replaced our cups to their saucers.

And indeed the coffee culture in Europe is a million miles from that of Melbourne. Order a latte, and you’re either corrected into having a cappuccino or presented with a Viennesse style coffee. There’s no such thing as a long black (unless you go to a tourist savvy purveyor of coffee and order a “café Americano”, which is anathema to me). And the espressos can be disappointing.
But like everywhere, quality varies from store to store.

We ambled back towards the Vatican precinct, and found Johnny a coffee shop Jane was fascinated by because of the produti Italiano (little tins of sweets with paintings on them) and signage. The coffee there was heaven, and we left Johnny to find his way back across the river.

But we couldn’t help him, glasses or no. We had a flight to catch…

Next episode: Cagliari!

The Atlantic

2011-09-05T21:11:00.000-07:00

Crown Entertainment Complex
8 Whiteman Street
Southbank VIC 3006 Australia

http://theatlantic.com.au

OK. So it was Father’s day. I don’t have any kids, and so had no one to say “Well done Kit-Dad!” Add to the mix that Jane was sick (down with the flu), and that I’d been doing house work all weekend, you might understand that I was feeling, if not unloved, at least a little neglected. (OK, OK, I can hear you all rattling out your tiny violins).

It was time, come Sunday afternoon after shopping and cleaning and looking after a sicky, to do something for me. To let me know I was someone I liked anyway.

Cue tram ride and a quick disappear to the Crown Casino for a movie and dinner on my own. Never one to do things by halves, I booked a gold class film and had an hour or so to kill and take myself out for dinner. But where to go? I absolutely refuse to go to that scrotum-browed Gordon Ramsay’s restaurant.

Enquiring at the box office for a good place to have seafood, the cinema staff unanimously directed me to the Atlantic. Well, if you like seafood and are looking for ego support through food, let me tell you - you could do a lot worse.

The Atlantic is a relatively new restaurant down at Southbank. A stunning trio of hostesses (blonde, brunette and Asian) in short silver skirts greeted me at the door to the Atlantic, turning a blind eye to my lack of sartorial elegance (I was wearing a hoody and crocs), and sashayed me to table 15, my lucky number, past piles of oysters on ice.

The kitchen is an open plan affair, with the head chef yelling out orders to the return choruses of “yes chef!”. It was like being in a television program!

The view looks, appropriately, straight across at the Melbourne Aquarium, and as each hour struck that night, the gas flames of the casino lit up the sky outside through huge windows that extend into the roof.

One of the waiting staff told me they’d only received one hat from the Age this year, as they were reviewed in the first few weeks of opening, but that they were batting hard for a second hat. I don’t doubt they’ll get there. The food is art of the highest order, particularly if you’re like old squid lips here. And their chef is some superstar called Donovan Cooke, who has worked in the UK, France and Hongkers, and is responsible for Melbourne restaurants including Est Est Est, Luxe and Ondine (winner of best new restaurant 2002).

After the half dozen Dunally (Tasmanian) oysters, I had the “Yellow Fin Tuna Tartare”, a kind of pressed square of tuna with black garlic, confit tomatoes (and, I suspect, dill), served with a parsnip and horseradish cream with delicate wafers draped in slivers of Iberian jamon. Just a starter with a rocket, parmessan and apple salad. I still had some time to kill before the movie, so I finished with a coffee, Grand Marnier and their home made nougat with cranberry pieces in it (yum!).

I know, what a lush. Hey, I’m not perfect, but I’ve never felt so loved in all my life. Like the universe was opening up it’s portals and pouring down its munificence on me. I kept having little “I’m not worthy of food this good” feelings, which I quickly assuaged by having another drink or thinking “If not me, who?”

So do yourself a favour, give yourself a treat, and spoil yourself. Again! I highly recommend the Atlantic if you’re feeling neglected. Tentacles? Forza. Does anybody ever get eight? Not yet. I’ll give them a strong seven and a quarter!

Scusa Mi Ristorante

2011-09-05T21:06:00.000-07:00

Mid-level, Southgate
Southbank
www.scusami.com.au

OK, how do you know when the restaurant trade has been taking a hammering?

When you walk into one of the best places you’ve ever seen, with great service, beautiful outlook, good food and the place is nearly empty. But surely we should take a look inside? Look at the lunch special!

OK, admittedly it was a Tuesday, down at a Southbank undergoing various renovations, but the sun was shining bright and, as I sat out on the verandah I felt like I was on holiday in Sydney, or maybe that it was my birthday. But no. It was just me and a book, catching a lunch special at Scusa Mi and catching a few rays.

The balcony overlooks Flinders St Station, the lunch special was great value (glass of wine, entrée – I had the octopus, and main; followed by the seared Salmon - $26!).

The name pretty much tells you it’s Italian food, and their card has three comedy chefs, so it doesn’t take itself too seriously.

As a quick aside, I'm amazed at how far Southbank has come as a dining precinct in the last decade. I’m beginning to suspect Southbank is becoming Melbourne’s version of Las Ramblas, the touristy walk flanked by the homes of jet-setty millionaires through the centre of town, and where you will increasingly find some of the very best restaurants going around.

OK, my particular lunch wasn’t the pinnacle of art in food – I did just have the special and I can’t recall seeing any “foams”, or titrations from the lab of some genius – but it was pleasant fare, a great view and attentive service. Plus, looking through their gallery, they look like they can rise to just about anything and match it with the foam/blindfold/food as painting and sculpture-ness-ness of any of them.

Thank God they are there.

Six tentacles out of eight!

Persimmon

2011-08-16T19:01:00.000-07:00

The National Gallery of Victoria
http://www.ngv.vic.gov.au/visit/places-to-eat/persimmon
11am–4pm
+61 3 8620 2434

This article is about going out for something to eat when you’re at the NGVi… you know, the international one, which is the old one on St Kilda Rd? Grey cinder blocks with the big arch window? The window with the waterfall on it that you used to stick your tongue on when you used to go there for excursions as a kid?

Look, if you don’t know what I’m talking about, move along, I don’t want to know you anymore. Oh go on, come back then, there’s hope for you yet. At least you’re keen!

Jane and I went there relatively recently for the Vienna exhibition. It’s pretty good, BTW (that means “by the way” – I’m one of these hipsters*). You should go while it’s still on:

http://www.ngv.vic.gov.au/vienna/exhibition/index

But it is loooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong (the exhibition, that is). You’ll probably find when you’re half way through the tour that you need to go and get something to eat. But I had absolutely no desire to go to one of the obvious caf type nosheries on show around the gallery.

Never one to shirk talking to complete strangers, I asked one of the security guards where the best place was to go for a meal. Who better to ask than “the man on the ground” (though you’d think he could at least have sat on a seat as a matter of decorum).

‘What kind of lunch are you looking for? A sandwich?’ he asked, blinking up at me from the floor through milk bottle glasses.

I used to drive trucks for Peter Rowland catering, so can tell you a thing or two about their chicken sandwiches, but they just didn't seem to fit the bill.

‘Nah. Something with a couple of courses, sit down, with a glass of wine.’
He nodded affirmatively, cracking his head lightly on the cement floor. ‘In that case go to Persimmon. You can walk to it through the sculpture garden.’

Great advice!

The day was sunny, the garden looking tip-top with bits of sculpture (hence the name), and we walked in to be seated by a waitress in a corner in the sun looking out at the Concert Hall. Our waitress was studying opera and was extremely theatrical, so I felt right in my element.

The clientele, much like the gallery as a whole, is predominantly female and well turned out. Jane suggested that going to the NGV is a great place to research what you might like to look like in your autumn years and pick up a few fashion tips. Well, if the men are anything to go by, it’s either a biliously large gay theatrical producer with a comb over, or a skinny Asian guy in a tight t-shirt for me.

The food was great! They had a bunch of themed dishes to go with the exhibition, so you could tuck into schweinfleisch and knock it back with a chilled glass of Osterreich riesling. Ist gut, ja?

We got steered toward the lunch special by our charming waitress, two courses with a glass of Saloman Gruner Veltiner each for $40. We shared the chacuterie of Austrian cured meats which I followed up with the fish – I think it was Rainbow Trout with mash – while Jane enjoyed the Otway pork chop. Can I just say, what an absolute surprise the quality of the food was, and ultimately not bad value for money.

So next time that you’re feeling arty,
Spoil all your senses and add a food party
(thank goodness I didn’t have to resort to using the rhyme farty).

“So, what will be tentacle score?” I hear you ask with baited breath (you do know it’s supposed to be bated breath, don’t you?... and please remove those worms from your tongue – you’re putting me right off). I’m going to give it six and a half tentacles for the restaurant, view and service, with an extra half a tentacle because it’s located in a top cultural institution. Seven tentacles!

(*No you're not - Ed)

Cavallero

2011-08-01T19:11:00.000-07:00

300 Smith St, Collingwood VIC 3066‎
(03) 9417 1377‎
us@cavallero.com.au
http://www.cavallero.com.au/

So, where do you go when it’s the end of financial year AND you’ve finally sent out the email about your new website? (I speak, of course, about bluevapours.com, you silly person! If you haven’t seen it, go there and check it out… NOW!!).

Well somewhere in Fitzroy, close to work, obviously. But we’ve been everywhere. Wabi Sabi? Nah, done it to death. Half the joints were shut, including Huxtable and Easy Tiger. Even the Chinese joint that’s never ever open was shut (what a surprise!). Press on. But wait a moment! What’s that tune I hear rising from the chorus line? Ah yes:

‘I’ve been undressed by kings
And I’ve seen some things
That a woman’s not supposed to see (a king’s penis?)
I’ve been to paradise
But I’ve never been to Cavallero.’

Cavallero. Bar. Brekky. Brunch. Lunch. Dinner. C’est cool man, and nestled on the mean streets of Collingwood. But what is it? Cavallero? It means horseman in Spanish. Do they serve horse? And there’s a quote from Wind in the Willows on the menu. What is going on? Let’s take a look, shall we?

Cavallero is nestled at the Johnston St end of Smith St, between the artist formally known as Safeway and the one hour photo developers that sells the cheap picture frames. Hardly the top end of town, but discretely far enough from drunky’s corner (near the TAB) to prevent any blatant change begging or general groping as you walk in the door.

I know the bar as the habitué of one of my television working confreres, who has his morning latte there as he reads all the newspapers before going to work. Well, the Herald Sun, anyway. They know him by sight and just make the coffee without him saying anything.

There’s a bar along one wall, with a large antlered deer head looking down at you dramatically over bottles of spirits. There’s a large communal table at the rear, if you miss out on a booth, high ceilings and an arched window that looks like it might have been an archway to the stables back in the olden days.

The shop floor is industrial, the ceilings high, the walls white, like so many places in Fitzroy; a converted shop that may be a hundred year old factory space or warehouse and subsequently a rooming house, gambling den, brothel, butchers and haberdashery in all its various manifestations.

The glass narthex at the front, a kind of recessed door from the original shop, lets tonnes of light into the space and is the architectural highlight.

But what is it? A bar, a breakfast club, a light noshery for brunchenette, a tea time swank-a-thon? Surprisingly, it’s all of the above. As the day progresses, the staff and the offerings change, to make it more of an “every moment of the day we’ve got you covered” kind of feeling.

Breakfast and lunch dishes, ‘Brunch’, are served till five, and then a dinner menu starts at six.

First stop, the bar. Beers on tap, including a very nice porter / dark beer that was highly reminiscent of chocolate. And for the ladies? Bubbles ahoy! We (I managed to sneak a glass) enjoyed a Prosecco, which is a dry sparkling wine from Italy (prosecco means dry, apparently, in Italian – who knew?). And affordable at around thirty bucks and would give many French champagnes a fright.

Truffle infusions seem to feature prominently on the menu, and I wonder if they get them from Tasmania? I bet they do. Hey! No horse on the menu. Gah! What did we have ,and was it any good? Short answers: Food, It was.

It was excellent. Drool-able. I am now wiping down my keyboard.

Jane had the chicken and coleslaw sandwich; they apparently knew about super tasters and which buttons to push. But not just any chicken and coleslaw sandwich: “Herb & parmesan crumbed free-range chicken breast with dill and yoghurt coleslaw.” Enviro, humane, kind of boom-shanka, almost guilt free.

Simone? The tasting board which came with olives, dips, risotto balls, salad, and the most delicious looking terrine.

Me? I had the pan fried barramundi that sat on a bed of hummus (the texture was heavenly), and a parsley, sumac and pomegranate salad. Yum!

Dessert? Cue internal dialogue:

Ring the bell!
Cor, someone is going to end up the size of a gorilla.
Do you have to ruin everything? Just eat it and enjoy it and don’t mention the “f” word.
Saturated fat – oops!

I had the pistachio frangipani tart with crème anglaise – a bit like a crumbly and slightly overcooked muffin (meh!), Sim the candied walnut and chocolate genache tart (hers looked better)… and Jane just had a black coffee because she is good, and pure, and doesn’t like having the nice savoury tastes washed out of her mouth by the cheap prurience of sugar.

So the judgement? Go! Go there soon. It’s a jeans more than a suit place, but they take anyone. If you go for a meal, try and arrive early or late, because it’s just not the sort of place that seems to take bookings. I’m sure you can, you’d just feel like you were overcooking it a bit by making one. Tentacles? Let’s call it a six; it’s not fine dining but casual grazing, but none the less a fine experience for all of that.

Metropolitan Hotel

2011-07-10T19:21:00.000-07:00

36-42 Courtney St (Cnr Blackwood St)
North Melbourne
http://www.metrohotel.com.au

Have you ever had one of those moments, walking into a restaurant or hotel you’ve never been to before and felt like yelling out ‘Darling, I’m home!’ as you toss an imaginary brown leather satchel into the corner and recline onto a leather chaise lounge and tilt your hat over your eyes?

Well that’s how I felt when I walked into the Metropolitan Hotel for lunch the other day. Fan-friggin-tastic. Want to come in and take a look?

What can I say? Old stain glass windows. Traditional wooden bar. Beer. And what beer! Taps and taps of it. An old dining room, reminiscent of my Mum’s dining room, with old furniture, white table clothes and playing Nat King Cole over the audio system as we were seated.

But the pièce de résistance? What the restaurant specialises in. You know I am going to hell for this, and the planet getting burned to a cinder by our profligate farming practices, but I don’t care if this is what it means. You got it. Steaks!

Oh gosh, just even writing these words makes me come over all gushy and want to skive of down the pub… again.

OK, now I’d better just lower your expectations a little. It’s not perfect. The staff say things like ‘Have youse decided what to order yet?’ The antique chairs in the dining room are beginning to go in the bum a bit (like us all), and the tables are a little rocky. The floor creaks and there are fat blokes sitting around in suits.

But this place is about nostalgia. Pub nostalgia for an era that may never have existed but is even more glorious for that. You know, that kind of yellow light memory you have while you’re experiencing something? Golden and glowing and pure, because you realise you’re witnessing the end of days of something; a perfect pearl sitting in a glass of vinegar that Cleopatra holds while licking her lips. Something pure and refined, but kind of sad too. With beer on tap.

I’ve noticed recently that North Melbourne has a treasure trove of gourmet pubs. There’s the Royal Park hotel about two blocks from the Metropolitan (OK, a bit uni style, with hand crotched art on the walls and used brown couches – but carpet bagger steaks! – like the seventies never ended!), and I suspect dozens more venues hiding around the back streets. This may in fact be one of my new ventures, to go out and seek every back street North Melbourne gastro pub scenario. And then maybe I’ll turn my sites on Seddon.

I had the aged poterhouse with red wine jus and side orders of rosemary potatoes and a green salad, washed down with a very serviceable Heathcote Shiraz. There were five of us (rather than the four in my previous entry), we drank more, and it still came out to cost less than Shakahari… and animals gave their lives for our meals! (Bless them, they did not die in vain).

So obviously, you know I liked it. Stuff it, I loved it. Give me more please. This isn’t fine dining. Not in the strict sense. There are no velvet gloves emptying your pockets, and it’s a bit too earthy to be posh. But it’s my style. I guess I must be a fat gutted, middle aged bloke (on the inside, bursting to get out through the veneer of urbane and svelt intelligentsia) who really likes drinking beer, red wine and eating steaks in convivial surrounds. The verdict? A strong six and a half tentacles out of eight. Forza!

Shakahari

2011-07-10T18:06:00.000-07:00

201 Faraday St
Carlton VIC 3053
www.shakahari.com.au

I know what you’re thinking!
Shaka Zulu? Hari Kumar? Kit has gone all African-y/Indian on us!
But nothing could be further from the truth! Shakahari is the name of a vegetarian restaurant in Carlton I went to with some friends for a vegetarian meal the other night, and I thought you might be interested.

I’ve had complaints about this blog previously (hello Dharamjot!) that everywhere I pick is polluted by the corpses of our animate brethren. But far be it for me to be said to be biased agin vegetables. Hey, I don’t mind lentils and mung beans. Let’s see how the herbivores do it, baby! (Answer: on the grass… much like the reviewer - Ed).

Located in a terrace house opposite Brunetti’s, Shakahari was the only vegetarian restaurant in my copy of the Age’s Good Food Guide. The only one? Yes! And a hat! So let’s take a look at the ONLY vegetarian restaurant in Melbourne that made the cut for the Age Good Food Guide, shall we?

Shakahari has been around for donkey’s years (read around twenty), and some of my older pals had heard of it. Ask a Gen Y-er about vegetarian food, though, and they all say ‘the Veggie Bar’ (Brunswick St).
So how would you describe Shakahari? In one word? Hippies. In a few words? Vegetarian hippies who have a predilection for Asian grub. I should have been twigged right off when I called to make a booking.

“Hello? I’d like to book a table for four tomorrow please.’
(Longish pause…) "Sigh. Alright.”
“Um, would you like my name?”
“I suppose.”
“Kit. For four.”
“Fine.”
“Would you like a mobile phone number?”
‘I guess... You know there’s no BYO?”
“That’s OK. See you tomorrow!”

How’s the ambience, I hear you ask? My initial reactions were positive. Wood floors, wood furniture, carved elephant statues, orange walls. But the tables? Too high. Chairs? Too hard. Lighting? Too bright. Porridge? Too hot… oh no, that’s another story. But you do have to go into the back garden and trip over loose bricks to go to the loo, though, so there is an element of a bear in the woods… if you get my drift.

And the other clients? Nutty. As in as nutty as a nut cutlet. It did make for an entertaining floor show though; people with anaemia saying things like “I’ve just been really stressed, you know?”, rockabilly boys chatting up tattoo girls, and same sex couples holding hands over lentils. You know. Cool people. Vegetarians.

The food is Asian inspired with a western influence. This can pretty much be distilled down to “Eastern food, Western plates”. Not a share thing, although the entrees said ideal to share and each one came with four portions. But then they came out on massive bits of white crockery, we had to decant them onto side plates, the serving was a disaster.

The menu has V (vegan), D (dairy), and E (egg) written against the various dishes, so you can work out what is least offensive to your sensibilities and or delicate digestional situation. I did, however, find myself with a tummy upset after going here (whether it was the food or not I’m unsure, so am unwilling to litigate); I guess the moral is just because something’s vegetarian doesn’t necessarily mean your body won’t reject it.

We had the mushroom dumplings (yum), the fried five C’s in pastry (I dunno what the five C’s were – and stop being rude), and the avocado magic (deep fried with capsicum and eggplant). For mains, I tucked into something called the Shaolin Treasure Chest – basically tofu with mushrooms (Asian) with five types of rice grain. Dessert was a lactose intolerant person’s wet dream, with tofu based baked goods that were delish.

The verdict? I thought it was a little bit on the expensive side, especially considering that no one died in the preparation of my dishes. If you HAVE to take out a vegetarian, or even better a vegan, GO! Go gangbusters. But if you’re looking for a fine dining experience, cross the road to Brunetti's and have a cake and coffee. Hard core vegetarians would no doubt give it a seven and a half out of eight. Me? A confirmed mollusc eater and lover of luxury? Meh. Let’s call it a scrape-y five tentacles out of eight.

St Jude’s Cellars

2011-06-02T18:39:00.000-07:00

389-391 Brunswick St
Fitzroy VIC 3065
www.stjudescellars.com.au

Brunswick St, eh? Gee, I haven’t been down there in ages. And I literally work three blocks from it. For some reason, I always turn left when I walk out Blue Vapours office door: my current theory is that if I turn left it’s down hill, my house is in that direction and Smith St is so much handier (at only a block and a half).

But nothing on Brunswick St has changed, although curiously and conversely absolutely everything has changed. There’s still year ten kids drinking coffee and smoking sly cigarettes outside Italian cafes in their school uniforms, there’s still young men from the country and suburbs toting instruments to gigs at the various bars, even the old bearded hobos playing guitar and busking for a few coins are still there. But I’m old (well, older) now, and fashions have changed… though I did see a guy down there with a flat top with blonde tips, a white windcheater, white high top Nike sneakers and Levi 501 jeans (I had to laugh - he was way over forty!).

Anywho, I was told about St Jude’s by my mate Suze (Hi Suze!), who’d been taken there by her boss David (Hello David!) for lunch and gave it two thumbs up. As always, intrigued by the advice of someone with taste (they do work at groovy architects Heritage Alliance), I took myself out there for dinner last night. Let’s go in and take a look, shall we?

St Jude’s is brought to you by the same people who own Rice Queen, the Panama Dining room (Smith St) and apparently the Veggie bar (Brunswick St - nice website).

Now let’s get this straight; it’s not strictly speaking a restaurant. They’ve got a kitchen, and it’s very good, but they seem to really do “the booze”... as they say in Eastern Europe (ahoj Stanka y Katka!). Hey, this is turning into a “shout-out to my homeys” review. Keep reading, you might be next!

The Booze. Booze, booze, booze. Look at the wine list. Very nice. But they’ve got more. Look at the racks. Someone came in from an office over the road and picked up a dozen bottles of champagne I’d never heard of and they handed them over without a receipt. Spirits. Martinis. A “with drinks-nibbles” section on the menu.

The food is competent, not high art, but the prices are reasonable. I had a baked chicken with parsley sauce entree (that's a "starter" if you're reading this in the US), and the fish of the day for main - grilled Blue Eye on a quinoa, spelt and hazelnut bed with a side salad.

Wines? A Spanish white wine type Albarino (very nice – apparently the Australian Albarino was going great guns until they realized the Spanish suppliers had sent the wrong grape type and it wasn’t Albarino at all), then changed gears to an Australian sauvignon blanc, and then a French "savvy b" to see the difference. I can’t remember the difference, incidentally, because the rest of the night then devolved into a haze.

The décor is all hard surfaces (which I see everywhere); lots of black and white and racks of the booze. A high ceiling in a kind of old warehouse, it's very tasteful. I can’t say there were people falling out the door, it was pretty quiet really, but that whole end of Brunswick St (down near Alexander Parade) has sprouted restaurants and bars where I can’t remember there being that much action. I spoke to one of my publican mates about it, Guy from the Napier Hotel (Hi Guy!)…which was absolutely pumping by the way… who said that the building was cursed and had had serial failed businesses in it. Maybe it is, but I’m crossing my fingers they stay around. The menu advertised what looks like an extremely attractive set menu event at the end of the month (26th June) with five courses and seven matching wines for a tonne. But don't quote me.

So in summary? Go for a wine or cocktail. Maybe skip the main courses and just have the nibbles that go with the drinks. The drinks list gets a rubbery seven tentacles, the food a strong five, five and a half, the decor a six. In total I give St Jude’s a six tentacles plus a couple of suckers out of eight! Enjoy!!

Cumulus

2011-05-08T22:29:00.000-07:00

45 Flinders Lane
Melbourne
cumulusinc.com.au

Everyone's been to Cumulus. Except me. Every time I went past it was packed. Trendy young people and older sophisticates have scoffed there for years while I've been stuck outside in variously the cold, temperate and boiling hot. Tsk.

But last night, out alone wandering the cold streets of town on the way home (cue wind machine and darkening skies, drizzle rain machine effect, empty street, rat scurries out of breeze behind bin), I chanced my arm. Surely this time?

It was packed, a surprise from the empty street outside. They squeezed me in between two groups of attractive girls at the bar to watch the chefs. I asked the waiter for his menu recommendations, and found out something they don't advertise!...

...OK! I clicked on full post. So what's the secret?

Come on, do you expect to do the reveal that fast? We've got to have one minute of suspense.

Cumulus is a little bar at the top end of Flinders Lane owned by the same people who own Cutler and Co. It's all hard surfaces in basically one open plan room with the cooking staff on show. Gee they work hard! Think trattoria.

The ingredients are second to none. Wagyu cured beef is cut on a meat slicer, they have over eight different kinds of oysters (not all great, as usual), fresh tuna and confits (beef?). Pomegranate seeds feature, as do delicately palate balanced salads. What would you call it? Eur/Asian, Frenchie-Jap? Freshness is the main key but saturated fat decadence options are available for those with the need.

My friendly waiter recommended two oysters, the cold octopus with chilli - small hot and green - and mayonaise in oil (Yummy!) and his secret.

The secret? Show me! What's the teasing all about. Argh!

My pal suggested I get a half serve of the cauliflower and a half serve on the tuna dish (raw, served on cold minted peas). Just the right amount for one. Half serves are not advertised as an option on the menu and significantly financially saving.

Throw in a Peroni and a glass of award winning sauvignon blanc, and it's as good an eatery as anywhere on the planet.

So, the tentacley verdict? A bit too popular, hard to get seats for four or five, but a couple could get in OK if their timing's good. Bookings? You might take them, but it's not that sort of venue. I'd do the fly past as there's so many restaurants around the area. But it is worth the try. One chef's hat from the Age Good Food Guide, I give it seven tentacles out of eight.

Cheese and Wine Matching

2011-04-11T19:47:00.000-07:00

Richmond Hill Café and Larder
48-50 Bridge Road
Richmond
www.rhcl.com.au

Can you believe it? There’s such a thing as a cheese snob. A fromage fop. Someone queer for queso. Just like a wine snob, but with different organs shutting down. And the professionals in the trade? “Cheese mongers”. I didn’t even know there was a word marriage like that. As in “I monger cheese for a living.”

I recently attended a cheese and wine matching course at Richmond Hill. They happen once a month and are educational and entertaining, if mucus inducing. Attendees could be typified as retirees from Kew, gay couples from the inner city, and gluttonous freak-show scenarios (me). The exceptions were the children of the rather glamorous mother I was seated next to; they’d bought her the ticket and were tasting their cheese against red lemonade. Forza!

Richmond Hill has a cheese room that is set up to imitate a cave. I think it’s about 17 degrees, and around 15% humidity. Cheese won’t ripen properly when refrigerated, as it’s all about interaction between moulds and milk.

The monger in charge was Anthony Femia, and what a cheese nerd! He knew everything and was put through his paces by an unusually well informed audience. The sommelier was Martin Fortune. No one challenged him at all. This was a cheese snob event, no question.

Like a wine tasting, we moved from the weak to the strong. We started with a glass of bubbles (no cheese offered, but you might try a triple cream), and then worked our way through the whites (goat’s cheese, bries), light reds (washed rind, semi-hard), big reds (cheddar) and then on to fortifieds (blue).

A quick word on cheese tasting; you’ll feel like you’re lactose intolerant by the end. Saturated fat mixed with so many exotic bacteria will leave you awash with a feeling of guilt and gurgles.

To whit, the lessons.

Goats Cheese
Holy Goat La Luna Ring
Sutton Grange, Victoria
This was meant to be a milder goat’s cheese; i.e. not so much like licking the back end of a goat. My notes? “Yum! Back end – oh oh, foot odour.” Apparently it’s a great breakfast cheese, to have with berries, or crumbled on pesto.

Wine match:
2009 Spinefex ‘Lola’ Semillon, Viognier, Vermentino
Basically, choose a high acid white wine to cut the cheese (!) and refresh your mouth that will have been dried out by the cheese sucking the moisture out of your cake hole. Would also go well with a sauvignon blanc.

Surface Ripened, White Mould
Fromage de Meux cow’s milk
Ile-de-France, France
Hooray! I’ve finally found out what the difference between brie and camembert is! Back in the day, everyone made white mould cheeses. They were all basically the same recipe, the difference being the sizes, the different grass types the animals ate and different penicillins (penicilli?) to ripen them.
When those nutty Europeans started naming everything as a regional speciality – before the formation of the European Union, after the invention of fire, somewhere in there – they named one Brie and another Camembert to match where they came from. The main difference is brie is made in a 1-3 kg wheel, while a camembert is much smaller. This affects the water quantity in the cheese (I’m guessing bigger cheeses hold more water).
You know they’re ripe when the insides run or bulge. Store white mould cheeses in paper in your vegetable crisper. The outside cut will oxidise, so trim the outside bits when you eat raw, but don’t throw them away! You can melt them on an open sandwich – try turkey, avocado and relish!

Wine match:
2008 Tom Boy Hill ‘Rebellion’ Chardonnay
Ballarat, VIC
‘Why a “card-onnay”?’ Basically, to try and complement the more robust flavours of the white mould cheese without overpowering them.

Surface Ripened, Washed Rind
Pont L’Évêque cow’s milk
Normandy, France
My notes: “Phwoar crikey! Talk about strong!” This cheese is apparently known as “Monk’s meat”. During Lent, when the monks had to give up meat, they turn to this robust cheese. A good cheese for winter, with a taste of cauliflower and meat; great for cooking.

Wine match:
2008 Farfalla Pinot Noir
Mornington Peninsula, VIC
Our sommelier recommended a lighter style red, but also endorsed beer or cider with this one.

Semi-hard
Tomme de Chevre goat’s milk
Loire, France
This was a mouth watering harder cheese, kind of like a parmy. The word tome comes from the Alpines (not the fags, the mountains) and means “hunk”, but in cheese-speak it means it’s made from a mix of milks (i.e. by a cheese maker, not a farmer).

Wine match:
2009 Al Muvedre Tinto Joven
Alicante, Spain
I’ve been to Alicante. You’ve got to say it kind of breathlessly, with an English accent while clutching the locket around your neck. “Allicante!”
This wine got a tick in my notes, and is a mix of Grenache and shiraz. You should (allegedly) always have red with harder cheeses, and this one was a medium red to match the saltiness of the cheese.

Cooked Curds
Quickes English Cheddar cow’s milk
Devon, England
Phew! On home ground here with cheddar. Did you know they wrap the cheese in cloth, and then drop it on the farm yard ground to crack it to let in the bugs? Yum!!

Wine match:
2008 Hollick Cabernet Merlot
Coonawarra, SA
OK, I think I may have been drifting off here, as the notes quota was starting to drop. I note a large tick on the wine here, and my notes “big red”.

Blue Cheese
Quesos Valdeon cow and goat’s milk
Valdeon Valley, Northern Spain

I LOVE blue cheese, and this was a very good one. The story behind this cheese is that a shepherd, sitting down to his sycamore leaf wrapped cheese and a loaf of rye bread, saw a beautiful girl walk past and forgot about his lunch, getting up and following her for two to three weeks (titter from audience). When he came back, there was mould all over his cheese, and inside, but he ate it anyway and found a taste of heaven. As a result, many cheese makers still use rye bread as part of the fermentation today… or something.

Good local blues suggested by our cheese monger were Gippsland Blue and Tarwin Blue.

Wine match:
Chambers Muscat
Rutherglen, VIC
Now here’s a couple of things I didn’t realise. First never have a red with a blue. Go for a sweet wine, like a port, a muscat, botrytis white, black sherry, sparkling shiraz (with Stilton), etc.
The second? That we have some of the world’s best Muscat, made from vines a hundred and fifty years old unscathed by the phylloxera plague of the late 1800’s. If these were made in Europe they’d command big bucks. Here, due to fashions and the market, they’re lucky to sell a bottle for $50.

So there you go. You don’t need to be a monger to be a cheese snob! Just follow these careful notes, tell them the story about the shepherd and everyone will think that your veins run with liquid cheese!

Until next time, keep eating!

Sarti Restaurant

2011-04-05T18:03:00.000-07:00

www.sartirestaurant.com.au
6 Russel Place
Melbourne

E tempo de carnivale! E festivale della commedia del'arte! Primo baby. (Who knew my year ten drama classes and grade six Italian would still come in handy?)

Italian and comedy? Where's this theme going?

Melbourne's Comedy Festival may be missing Scarramouche - but the zanies are out to play; Arj Barker having rude things done to his face by a papaya (you'll have to see him about that), Mick Molloy talking about his sex life (don't picture it - this is a food blog), and hundreds more artisans plying their craft in town right now (you'd really better catch a show).

So you make tracks like lightning down to the Town Hall for a laugh. And then it hits you. It's night, you're out, and you need to eat! (there's an Italian segue set-up going on here somewhere, I can feel it...) But where can you eat nearby? Everything's booked. It's crazy! Ramrod backed maitre d's turned us away from door after door. I felt like a second class citizen, let me tell you. Perhaps it's my new cologne 'Eau de Cow Dung'?

We were finally greeted with open arms, however, at Sarti; tucked as usual down a smelly alley, but conveniently only a block and a half from the centre of all things humourous at this time of year (finally, we got there - Italian joint is it?).

It IS an Italian restaurant (well done) without the check table cloths, not your hackneyed pizza joint but a more warm and modern trattoria. The decor's stripped back, black, timber, white; friendly and modern. We sat outside on their "rooftop" terrace - looking up at skyscraper walls - and it's laid back and groovy. The staff are good looking and knew the menu by heart - both good signs.

The menu? Excellent and simple. We had small pork and fennel sausages with a white polenta marsala sauce (which reminded me curiously of doughnuts) and calamari for entree. I had a fantastic mud crab and prawn spaghetti, my companions downing other specialities including crispy skinned fish and a berlotti beans and pancetta pasta.

The downsides? Going before a show means you're sitting there with a ticking stop watch in your head. It felt a bit rushed, so I would have liked to do a three or four hour session there; may be a late lunch that goes all afternoon? Oh, and the water prices! You know you're on the wrong side of Lent when you start ordering sparkling mineral water with your dinner. Qu'el horreur when the bill came! Still, if I was drinking wine, it'd seem cheap and the sting would have been taken off by the warm glow of booze. Quick! A poem:

Ah, booze!
One day I'll sup
There at your cup.
One day.
Ah, booze!

Obsessing? Moi?

So, all in all? Hot staff, nice atmos, good menu, prices a little on the high side but bearable. I give it six muscular tentacles out of eight! Now make me laugh, damn you!!

Burgundy anyone?

2011-03-30T19:45:00.000-07:00

I went to a Bourgogne (Burgundy) region wine tasting in November held by Bijoux Wines, and subsequently misplaced the notes I made. Tiddly? Me? Never. I’ve found them again subsequently, however, so can let you in on (as the French would say) “l’éducation” I got.

The event was held at the rear of Matteo’s, a lovely restaurant in North Fitzroy. There were only three ladies there; Linda Baron, Melbourne foodie extraordinaire, who’d invited us and Jane and Simone from Blue Vapours … who ended up doing a runner and going to the pub next door. The rest of the attendees were male wine aficionados; i.e. over fifty, high blood pressure, purple faces, comb-overs and small moustaches. It was like looking into my future!

The wines were mostly reds. They had white burgundies, and some bubbles, but it wasn’t until I was three quarters of the way around the tables that I got the low down on (as the French would say) la traditionale “burgundys”.

There’s been a special mystique about burgundy for me, ever since my parents had a ten litre cask of it on the kitchen bench back in the 70's. Bourgogne Rouge is basically pinot noir. That’s what a “burgundy” is. Talk about popping the mystique! I started tasting the qualities of pinot straight away. Pinots? Notes for the novice: It’s hard to make a good one, they always stuff them up here in the cheaper bracket, and they’re hardly ever consistent. But that’s apparently the appeal of these wines to high end slurpers: the difficulty and the variation.

There are different grades of Bourgogne rouge, and the price and quality went up around the room. The cognoscenti were all standing at the last table downing the good stuff and I’d been dabbling around the lower grades for ages! Don’t make the same mistake! Here are the gradings:

Village: grapes sourced from the village area.
Premier Cru: grapes sourced from the one vineyard.
Grand Cru: grapes sourced from the one nice hill in the one vineyard.

Definitions vary from region to region, and you might like to check my conversational definition with what they say in Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cru_%28wine%29).

So (drum roll please), my picks in the different classifications:

Kit’s Cucina Inaugural Bourgogne Wine Awards

Bubbles- i.e. Champagne Medot
NV Medot Rose
50% pinot noir and 50% chardonnay. “Medium rose, moderate bubbles. Easy drinking style.” My notes get shorter and less coherent as we go around.

White Burgundy
2004 Chateau de Citeaux Chassange Montrachet
“A quick surprise” it says in my notes, not sure why. Mid-straws yellow, grapefruit and lemon zest.

Village Rouge
2008 Domaine Tortochot Gevrey Chambertin Champerrier Vieilles Vignes
Delish. Mid cherry crimson colour, berry fruit tastes - I thought “raspberry”.

Premier Cru Rouge
2007 Domaine Marchand Freres Chambolle Mesigny 1er Cru “Les Sentiers”
Who knows what their tasting notes mean? Pebbly? WTF? Also, I’m beginning to suspect the reason these wines cost so much is to pay for the type setting. How long and fancy sounding is that name? My notes? “Perfumed. Excellent.”

Grand Cru
(the absolutely broadest range in tastes in this category– I see in my notes from Chinnoto to Amyl… crikey!)
My pick? Super big drum roll please!!!
2007 Domaine Marchand Freres Grand Cru Charmes Chambertin
Mid ruby colour, fresh berry fruit. My notes: “Yum! Yum!”

At the end, they threw in a Rhone Rouge which was a mix of grape types, and had rave reviews printed with it by the Wine Advocate and International Wine Cellar. It was a 2007 Domaine Le Milliere Chateauneuf du Pape (ninth castle of the Pope) Vieille Vignes en magnum. My notes: “Balance, rounded. What a relief after all those pinots, like falling into a comfy chair.”

If you’d like to talk to someone about buying these, or one of the many other bottles they had on offer, you could try emailing Norman. He’s at:
Norman@bijouxwines.com

Hopefully they invite me to their next one!

The Newmarket Hotel

2011-03-21T20:55:00.000-07:00

34 Inkerman St
St Kilda
www.newmarketstkilda.com.au

I like beer. Do you like beer? Yeah, I like beer too. Food? I like food. Do you like food? Me too! We should hang out more. Here, try this...

If you like food, beer, and hanging out, the Newmarket Hotel could very well be the place for you. The old pub famous for its "Schnitz and Tits" nights - featuring schnitzels, topless waitresses and strippers - no longer. The minds behind the Albert Park and Middle Park Hotel bought it and renovated it. They've kept the facade, ripped down the pub and put up a monument to South America. Shall we go in and take a look?

First stop, the where. St Kilda. I've got to admit I'm a North of the River boy. Abbotsford and Fitzroy are my main stomping grounds, with a quick diversion to la cita. But occassionally, the siren song of the south calls and I find myself in Sydney... I mean St Kilda. Same place, n'est pas? Not on your life. This is the cool part of St Kilda, the back bit, out the side, the gritty Melbourne-esque part of St Kilda which almost makes you want to move there. Let's call it St Kilda East.

Before I go on, I have to show my hand. This is a CJ McKenzie inspired review. It was his night off and he suggested we get down there and check it out, and I've got to admit it was worth the trip. But I might be biased because of the company.

The renovation is tasteful; you can tell it's the same architects that did the Public House in Richmond. But they've started doing things that little bit better with practice. Like functional bars, and heaters that recess into the walls.

The menu? "Californian inspired Hispanic menu". What does that mean? Tapas? Apparently not. Portions are too big for one. Share plates still, and featuring things like soft tacos with prawns, or slow roasted pork.

Oh! And they've got a really big table opposite the kitchen that you can book for functions. Handy if you want to go out with more than eight people to something. Like your family...

The crowd is a bit older at this pub. I guess the prices may have pushed the back packers down to the intersection with Alma Rd (or whatev's - it's St Kilda, I don't know my way around), so definitely a pick up place for recent divorcees. But it's a nice combination. Relaxed dining, good architecture, tasty yet simple food with a twist of spice and BOOZE. Lovely booze. Thank heavens I was there on St Patrick's day and was allowed to have a tipple.

Meanwhile - with the reno - the builders have apparently built a space underneath that has exactly the same (massive) open area floor space. It's mooted to be opened in about six months, with a catwalk down the middle and available for fashion shows, weddings, laid back love ins and what have you. You'll be catching a lift down the side to a subterranean cool-oire.

Score? It's not fine dining, and you'll need to book a table as they stop letting people in without reservations, but it's honest, tasty, and friendly... and one of my relatives is high profile there and buys me drinks. I give it a seven tentacles out of eight.

No 35.

2011-03-21T19:49:00.000-07:00

Inside Sofitel Hotel
35th Floor, 25 Collins St Melbourne
Over Collins Place
www.no35.com.au

Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! So we'll all go out and indulge in gluttony.

Momo? Tuesday after the long weekend, closed! Rockpool? You want too big a table! And then my thoughts turned to the first "fancy" restaurant I ever went to.

Formerly the Wentworth Hotel (I'm sticking to this name, Ange, even if it's not true) I was dazzled as an eight year old... more of that later. Internet surfing revealed their new restaurant is called No. 35, to match the floor number, and has a hat from the Age Good Food Guide. A couple of "bonjours" and deposit of $20 a head later (!!!) I was able to secure our seats.

What is it about eating, drinking and going to the toilet so many metres over everybody's heads that makes it instantly a special occassion?

So first, my childhood recollections. An open kitchen, flames of brandy burning, visions of the Towering Inferno, me looking for the most expensive thing on the menu, ordering lobster thermador and then being told I was having the chicken. Going for a wee (the absolute highlight) with floor to ceiling glass over people's heads! And the coup de grace? My Dad (bless him), complaining about the bill. "A hundred dollars for dinner for six? I've never paid a hundred dollars for a meal in my life!"

Well, how things have changed... and curiously stayed the same.

I mean the view is spectacular. Just look at it! Though somehow, the toilets weren't the same. Through the lobby of a huge atrium... which smelt like a hotel (you know that chloriney smell? How do they do that - I felt like I was in Asia). The tüt had shrunk, and I could see the MCG. Had it swapped sides, or was I bigger and the landmarks now recognisable?

The food was excellent. My gosh it was good. Five types of oysters to choose from. Roast peppers, heirloom tomatoes, dehydrated olive and frozen goat's curd (Jane didn't trust it all as the lighting was a bit low). Other guests were in raptures about the roast pork belly with scallop. Mains? I had the barramundi, keeping to a pescatorian theme, Jane had the lamb (same problem! Couldn't see it well enough so refused to eat it like a frightened horse at a jump - she'd be hopeless at the blind restaurant scenario). Dessert? Yes please! A triumph, high art! I had the brunt orange with pistachio ice cream washed down with black coffee and a Grand Marnier. Lovely.

But? I can feel a but coming on Christopher, and you're not even sitting on me. Well, the service was a bit weird. Strange northern Europeans, gaunt and humourless, like going to a performance of Waiting for Godot. We had a dose of the cheerful Canadian maitre d, a somnalier, bearded and entertaining. But the rest? Meh. Plus, I had the $160 deposit constantly ticking in the back of my mind.

So, in conclusion? View? Eight tentacles - full marks! Food? Seven and a half tentacles out of eight. Service; six tentacles. The deposit? Zero tentacles. My recommendation? Go without a booking for lunch or early supper and watch the sun sink in the west and the lights come out to play. Six tentacles.

ADDENDUM: Text altered after reassurances the deposit was accounted for in the bill.

Margarita Madness!

2011-01-12T18:37:00.000-08:00

“America, America, my nation’s heart to thee! Oh endless skies, and deep tanned thighs, can I eat KFC?”

Maintaining the rage for all things American, it’s Tequila time here at Kit’s Cucina, and much like Floyd on Alcohol, I too have been known to have a tipple while slaving away over a hot anything. Particularly when sponsored (hint, hint all liquor marketers out there – particularly Don Julio of who I am about to rave).

I was at a party at Katka and Neil’s flat last year (Hi Katka and Neil!). Neil had invited a whole lot of his “telcoms” colleagues to come over for the party. It was like walking into the UN; there was an Englishman, a Scott, an Irish fellow, an Indian, an American, a Canadian and a Malay, and their girlfriends were from all over the world… particularly Eastern Europe.

The American guy was really very nice; hugely fat, beardy and weirdy (he either had one of those “draw-strings-that-you-pull-to-give-your-buttocks-definition” or a lopsided G-string – urk! – showing through his pants). He seemed a bit of a chuckle head, so I immediately smelt a rat and suspected he might work for the CIA. And why not? He perfectly fit the profile. Or have I read too many Smiley’s people book scenarios?

Regardless, he was drinking Tequila and offered me a glass or two. And WOW! The very best tequila I have ever drunk. It was called Don Julio, known colloquially as ‘the Don’ and is Mexican (a quick aside here – I know that Mexico is not the USA, but it is in the Americas, so I feel I’m on safe-ish ground with my opening song).

You will recognise the Don by its wooden stopper. It’s unavailable in stores here (he had brought it back in his luggage – or through the diplomatic bag), but would be worth your while chasing on the internet. It’s made with 100% blue agave with no other ingredients but water. Aged in white oak, such tequilas have much the quality of single malt scotchs. Awesome. See how they make it here:

Tequila Don Julio

This should probably (definitely) NOT be used for cocktails. But it just goes to show the difference between good and terrible tequila.

Anyway, over summer I cranked out the ice shaver my brother Jim (Hi Jim!) gave me last Chrissy (it was nudging 40 degrees at the asbestos beach shack) and made some cocktails. Here’s a few takes on the margarita for the next time you’re losing your cool. Try to get the best quality tequila you can (look for the word agave):

KIT’S CLASSIC
2 parts tequila
2 parts triple sec (Cointreau)
1.5 parts fresh lime juice
Crushed ice
Lime wedges
Salt flakes

Rub glass rim with lime wedge, dip in salt to crust rim. Shave ice, fill glass. Pre-mix cocktail in a jug, pour over ice. Top ice, garnish with lime wedge.

TRADITIONAL
60ml tequila
20ml Cointreau
20ml lime juice
Treat glass as above. Shake ingredients over ice and strain into glass.

COMMERCIAL
One part tequila
Three parts Jose Cuerva margarita mix (triple sec and lime cordial pre-mix from your bottle shop – yummy)
Mix, pour on crushed ice, drink, beat children, set self on fire from BBQ.

POMEGRANATE MARGARITA
1 3/4 cups chilled pomegranate juice
Salt flakes for glass rim
1 1/2 cups silver tequila
1 cup triple sec (Cointreau)
2/3 cup fresh lime juice
Ice cubes
8 lime wedges, for garnish

Shake pre-stirred jug of cocktail mix in portions over ice and pour into salted glasses. Make face. Pomegranate? Who ever has this stuff? Erk! Really? It’s good for you? Well, we’ve already made this much, better drink it. Hey, second one’s not so bad. Ole! Yes please. Has the ambulance arrived yet for the burns and beating victims from previous recipe? Better have another then. Blur memory. Wake next morning with straw sticking out of hair, a cracking headache and bruises.

Until next time (and particularly in light of the espionage comments above), it’s bye from me till next time!

p.s. Tell Julian Assange I'm on my way with the ice shaver!

Beer Can Chicken

2011-01-12T16:16:00.000-08:00

I had cause for reflection about the phrase "season's greetings" and "compliments of the season" while I was on holidays. I would, of course, like to wish you a happy Christmas and merry New Year, but not only would it be redundant, it's also kind of cliched.

Maybe I could just say: "Salt, pepper, smoked paprika, tarragon": the majority of the flavourings in KFC incidentally (chuck in some MSG; normal paprika; have a couple of types of pepper - black, white, green; brown sugar, white sugar: onion salt; garlic powder; maybe some chilli powder - I once managed to beat the Colonel by five spices). So "Secret Herbs and Spices" to you.

Did I hear someone say "beer can chicken"? (Yes, it's in the title of this article, Kit). I thought so.

Well, a couple of years ago I was given an American BBQ book that has revolutionised the humble barbee as far as I'm concerned. It's called 'Taming the Flame' by Elizabeth Karmel and I can highly recommend it.

The US have, of course, a different concept of BBQ to us. Here, it's all about hot grills, searing flesh (yours and that of the dear departed), letting it rest and digging in. Which is actually pretty fantastic and low maintenance for catering.

But the Yanks actually call the food made "BBQ", as in "I'm going to eat some BBQ" (don't get me started - next stop I'll be complaining about them making up words like ironical, or de-plane/de-bus/de-boat/de-BBQ, or calling main courses "entrees", or tomato sauce "marinara sauce", etc - but that's a different article), and they're really into cooking outside with a lid on for HOURS...

Anywho, this book opened my eyes to the whole indirect heat cooking with the lid on, possibly with wood chips to smoke the meat. We've made ribs, beer can chicken, North Carolina pulled pork (drool), Greek lamb (I know what you're thinking - and don't be disgusting), fish and more and it really makes the good old barbs a much more flexible tool.

And one of the big secrets to American BBQ? The rubs. Make a spice rub using the spices above, rub it on the meat and slow roast it. Brown sugar (and possibly white sugar as well) is key, as is tarragon and smoked paprika, to get that authentic American taste. I recall an overinflated Oprah Winfrey years ago telling viewers how great chilli con carne was if you melted chocolate in the sauce. And you'd better believe it! Americans love sugar in everything, including pumpkin. (Is this coming out a bit nationist... as in racist against Americans? Not my intention, but if read that way, I deeply apologise).

So, recipes for beer can chicken? Why coitanly:

CLASSIC BBQ RUB
* 2 tablespoons smoked paprika
* 2 tablespoons salt flakes
* 3 tablespoons sugar
* 2 tablespoons brown sugar
* 1 tablespoon cumin
* 1 tablespoon chilli powder
* 1 tablespoon freshly ground black pepper
* 1/2 tablespoon cayenne pepper
* 1 tablespoon onion powder
* 1 tablespoon garlic powder
* 1 tablespoon celery salt
* 1 teaspoon tarragon

Phew! Pre-packaged I know, but that's the old US of A for you! I'm coming over a bit red, white and blue right now as I write this (particularly around the lips... how's my circulation looking?). You can use other herbs, like oregano instead or in conjunction with the tarragon - try playing with the levels to suit yourself. Can be stored in a container pre-mixed for a few months.

BEER CAN CHICKEN
Brush chicken with oil and season with 2 tablespoons dry rub.
Open beer can, pour out about 1/4 cup of the beer, and make an extra hole in top of the can. Sprinkle a remaining tablespoon of the dry rub inside beer can.
Slide the chicken over the can. The legs act as a tripod, steadying the chicken. Put the chicken on the beer can in the center of the grill's cooking grate.
Cook chicken for about an hour and a half over a moderate indirect heat (until the internal temperature registers 165°C in the breast area and 180°C in the thigh).
Let rest for 10 minutes before carving.

You can find out more about 'Taming the Flame' at:
tamingtheflame.com

God Bless Y'all!

Kit ///

Melbourne’s New French Quarter: Fitzroy / Collingwood

2010-10-14T17:02:00.000-07:00

La Niche Cafe / Boire / Monsieur Truffle / Breizioz Creperie / De Clieu / Simon Johnson

Oh la la! Encroyable, zut allors! Blue Vapour’s neighbourhood is quickly becoming the French Quarter of Melbourne. Not that I mind, since I’m a francophile.

Some might argue it’s Carlton - with the Filou Patissserie on Lygon St, various cheese shops and the Theatre Francaise on Canning St – but I’m talking about a groundswell from Smith to Brunswick St, between Victoria and Johnston Sts, that’s fightening in its tectonic proportions.

Don’t believe me (about the French Quarter in Fitzroy / Collingwood… not me being a francophile)? Let’s look at the facts:

La Niche Café
67 Smith St
Collingwood
Ph: (03) 9418 3439
7 tentacles out of 8

One of my favourite places and for me top of the list not so much for the food but the friendliness. It’s an extremely casual place to eat, have a coffee or sit in the courtyard and drink a glass of wine while reading the papers.

The owner is Antonie Sargeant (hope I spelt that right), un homme from Brittany who moved to Australia and opened this little gem around five years ago… about the same time we moved in to BV HQ. Women flock from miles around to watch him pour coffee as he’s been likened to the thinking girl’s Gabriel Gate.

He’s ably assisted by Nora – a Parisian beauty who, let’s face it, has kept the tills turning by hapless older men who want tot talk to her if only briefly enough to order un tasse de café. They’ve had various qualified chefs in the back, all excellent, whipping up quiche lorraine, crepes , prosciutto and goat cheese salads, baguettes, croissants that are the real deal, etc. And they have a substantive bar with great local wines.

Last but not least, La Niche has bands on Fridays (Jane and I have played there twice), art openings and special menu nights with coq au vin and the like. Plus, the building is owned and houses the offices of comedian John Clarke, one of my heroes. You should go! (I have to mention them first as part of my loyalty program.)

Boire
92 Smith St
Collingwood
No phone
http://www.boire.com.au/
7.5 tentacles out of 8

Age Good Food Guide listed, and pretty fantastic, be prepared to reach into your wallet as the wine list is exclusively French. Don’t want to give the game away too much as I’m thoroughly reviewing this one for you next week** as I went there for a night with Stephane Reynaud (Parisian chef)… but more next week.

**My Dad said he read my last blog (“Hi Dr!”), but that it was bit long and he forgot what I was writing about by the end. Not sure if it’s me or my Dad, so will make the rest of this blog brief… ish!

Monsieur Truffle
90 Smith St
Collingwood
“Fins” chocolate and coffee. Or something. Never been there, but proportedly the very best drinking chocolate in Melbourne and a patisserie.

Breizioz Creperie
Corner Gertrude St and Brunswick
Fitzroy
(03) 9415 7588
http://www.breizoz.com.au
Near the corner of Gertrude and Brunswick Sts. Ditto Breizioz on my attendance, but definitely reinforcing of my argument.

De Clieu
Cnr Gertrude and George Sts
Fitzroy
Is this even French? Something to do Frenchman Gabriel de Clieu who took coffee seeds from the French botanical gardens and took them to the French colonies (search me I Googled this from; http://myachinghead.net/2010/10/de-clieu-gertrude-st).

It just opened this week in the former real estate agent KP Smyth on the corner of Gertrude St and George Sts. It’s the same group that did the Seven Seeds coffee place in town and people are mooching out the front looking cool already. Open two days and there are people hanging from the rafters! Phew! My comedian landlord Tim Scally (“Hi Tim!”) suspects they have A-list tabs going on to create a vibe, so perhaps you should rush down and celebrity spot out the front with a bottle of water and a cut lunch (they use Fatto A Mano bread – too hard – and charge $10 a sandwich).

Simon Johnson
Shop
12 St David Street
Fitzroy VIC 3065
(03) 9486 9456
http://www.simonjohnson.com.au

The internet calls this place a “purveyor of fine food”, so you know it’s a wank. If I say the words “Pru and Trude” you’ll get the picture; hessian bags on the ceiling, boxes of biscuits called mother in law tongues for over $20 and middle class staff (am I allowed to say upper class – do we have that en Australie?) wearing black aprons. But… oh, yes, there’s a but…

They have a “fromagerie”, basically a walk in cheese fridge, that would make your eyes pop out of your head. French cheeses galore, including the stinky one in the wooden box. I’m told they have cheese tastings for most of the day Saturday and Sunday, and that they don’t mind you taking a bottle of wine along. An idea for a bored Sunday early afternoon perhaps.

Anyway, more next week. Get ready for a review on pork, blackboards and wine, wine, wine…

Au bientot!

Christophe (c’est moi!) ///

Middle Park Hotel

2010-10-05T22:49:00.000-07:00

102 Canterbury Rd
Middle Park VIC 3206
ph: 9690 1958

Hello mes amis! I know it’s been a long time since I’ve parlayed at ya, but I’ve been overwhelmed by the tedium of work and sorting through piles of filing and receipts.

“Don’t tell us about your humdrum existence, Christophe!” I hear you thinking. “What I want is some great food tips on eateries and other cake hole inspired topics.

Well you can relax. This is the first in a couple of entries, because now I’ve cleared a space on my desk I can now focus on everybody’s favourite topic: tuck!

OK; so recently I was puzzling over where (oh where???) could we book the staff from Blue Vapours (great guys, check them out) to go out for their annual corporate planning day lunch? To date we’d done Pearl, Ezard (basement of the Adelphi), and Madame Sousous (Brunswick St). How could we top them?

The gauntlet was thoroughly thrown down, and all eyes turned to moiself, the food guru. Could he do it again? And how much was he prepared to spend?

I tried hard and did my research, but seemingly to little avail. The winner of the Age Good Food Guide best restaurant 2010, the chef of the year award 2011 (Ben Shewry), and only Melbourne restaurant to get in the San Pelligrino international food guide (who even knew they had one? I wonder what Bislerri thinks?) – Attica – didn’t take bookings for lunch.

And call me crazy, but I kind of baulk at the very idea of Vue de Monde with it’s exorbitant price tag. Can it really be justified? Rockpool? Maze? But do I want to hang out at Crown, or make that wrinkle headed prune Gordon Ramsay any richer?

I started trawling guides and haunting the back streets of the CBD, the date drawing ever closer and my alarm bells ringing. Where would I book? Two and three hat restaurants looked like they were offering sculptural artworks in church where you pay a premium to be intimidated, steak houses just looked too awful. And then I found it. The Middle Park Hotel.

At this point in my review I have to declare my hand. My cousin Chris McKenzie (known as CJ to staff) is/was (?) the bar manager there. I was blowing the top off a couple of frothies with him, pretending to be Billy Brownless, when he said -
“Don’t go to any of those fancy pants places. Come here! We’ve got a top chef and I swear we’re about to get a hat. It’s really good.”

Well we did, and it was.

The first thing you need to know about the menu is that it’s all about the meat. And old world meat at that. The menu is littered with items like scotch eggs, ham hocks, black pudding and duck liver parfait (OK, vegetarians are now doing 360’s in their graves, but I’m salivating). Patrons? They were predominantly flush faced men over sixty with a predilection for fine meats and red wine. It was like hitting the jack-pot of a Chinese restaurant in Melbourne filled with Chinese diners. We’d clearly landed at a gastro-pub Mecca; heart attack ground zero.

Steaks? Oh yeah, you know it. I had the top of the line and have to say I probably would have been happier down a rung or two; it was a super aged hung steak with marrow and parsley. A bit too old world for my chops; I’m not a huge marrow man – though I did have flashes in my mind of M eating a marrow bone at his club with a long silver spoon. Still, delicious, and everyone was nodding their heads around the table.

Oysters? Four types – but don’t bother shopping around, take it from the horse’s mouth: the Tasmanian were plumpest, cleanest of palate and nicest of colour.

Wine? The restaurant had a French sommelier (wine waiter) and an impressive wine list; pages and pages. Thank heavens we were able to take direction.

Now I haven’t been paid a cracker for this review, but it really was worth a look; up there with the Station Hotel in Footscray. I give it seven tentacles out of eight.

If you go, say hi to CJ for me!! To find out more, visit:

www.middleparkhotel.com.au

Winter? Get happy!

2010-06-27T19:43:00.001-07:00

Often known as Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) many people experience the "down in the dumps" complex in winter. Fortuitously Kit's Cucina has come up with a guaranteed way to lose those winter blues! Alright then! How? How?? You've made me click this friggin' link - now give me answers!

Well the first thing I'll say is calm down. It's OK. Why would I make a ridiculous claim like this unless I knew it to be true?

This won't be cheap,but follow these simple and guaranteed steps:
* Buy a plane ticket.
* Go to the airport with your hanky, scarf, sinex, hat, cardigan, coat, singlet, boots and thermal underwear.
* Climb on the plane and order a gin and tonic.
* Relax.
* Hop off plane.
* Walk down gang way and look at tropical flowers. See the sun?
* Start peeling off the layers because of the oppressive heat. Start laughing hysterically.
* Jump in a taxi - race to a resort, get your dackside poolside and watch people cavort in bikinis and budgy smugglers and try not to blind anyone from the reflection off your ridiculously pallid skin.

Now we can't always do this - money, work, kids, and more getting in the way - but believe me it works. And it may indeed be a deal cheaper than seeing a therapist, buying a special UV light and / or visiting a brothel and ordering up big on anything that's been through a spray tan booth a couple of times.

I couldn't afford the tropical getaway myself, but did find myself in Sydney for work. And what do you do when in Sydney? That's right: continually impersonate Samaranch announcing the Olympic winning bid! That and do what the Sydneysiders do. Sit in a tshirt in mid winter beside the water and enjoy the hospitality. I did just that and attach, for your amusement and edification, a short review of Nick's Seafood on Darling Harbour - a local institution. Bon appetit!

Nick's Seafood Sydney video review here!

South Island New Zealand - food and the Marlborough Region wines

2010-03-29T18:19:00.000-07:00

Gidday! And Kia Ora to a new blog. We've just returned from a whirlwind trip around the wineries of New Zealand, or should I say the Seth Island of New Zuland... or should I even say "South Kiwi"? (More than one person asked me "which part of Aussie are you from?" - I kid you not). My poor liver! Our trip was for a higher purpose, however, with the imminent launch of our new wine iPhone app and the pursuit of new business partnerships (please take note ATO!).

The Marlborough region is famous for its Sauvignon Blancs worldwide, and why not? The terroir is ideal; gravelly, minerally soil that makes the roots dig deep, a climate with warm days and cool nights - a veritable micro climate perfect for the sav blanc varietal. 85% of grapes grown and wine made come from the sauvignon blanc grape. But what else do they grow? And what are the wineries like? Well, you'll be glad to know the answers are all here. AND I take you on another video tour...

The cooler climes of the southern island suit themselves to cooler grapes. Varieties you can typically find include pinot gris, pinot noir, and chardonnay; all of which grow well in addition to the sauvignon blancs which are so omnipresent you begin to worry about genetic diversity on the planet. Some of the smaller wineries are turning their hands to white blends, one of which I enjoyed called a Torru - in the French style of just chucking in what you have to hand and making the best job of it you can.

New Zealand isn't quite as big on the BIG reds. The southern island doesn't suit shiraz grapes. Shiraz is grown on the North island, but for some bizarre reason they call their shiraz wines "syrrah". Someone told me there was a slightly different wine making process between shiraz and syrrah, but when I tried to pin them down on just what made it different, they were highly evasive. I think it might just be the country. After all, they also call milk bars "dairies" and cricket "crucket". And I never spotted a merlot.

To come with me on a bicycle tour around Blenheim, visit:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S9OS4pnlAPk

Wineries visited include:

Wither Hills
Villa Maria Estate
Highfield
Isabel Estate
Te Whare Ra
Mahi Wine
River Farm Wines

and the bike tour organised through

Wine Tours by Bike

A couple of quick other notes.

I was distraught to find out I missed out on one of the great lobster eating experiences in life while there. Lobsters are prevalent on the west coast of the south island, around the whale watching town of Kaikoura. But when I asked about the price for lobster at lunch, I was disappointed to find out it would be $100! Forget it. But driving north along the wild coast (that looked a little like Scotland - heath and no one around), we passed a number of cute looking lobster caravans at 100 km/h. Man, I nearly cried when I found out what I'd missed. The most famous of these is called "Nin's Bin" (as opposed to Binh Minh). They take lobsters off the sea floor that day, and boil them in a drum. Take a bottle of chardonnay, a jar of mayonnaise, get them to cut the lobster in half for you and eat it on the sand dunes. A snip but still not sure how much you pay - $20? Sniff! Do it for me!!

A fantastic restaurant we visited on the East coast just out of Hokitika (or should that be Hock a tiki?) was called the Stations Inn which has alpacas and fine dining (NB no alpaca on the menu). The photos on the site are atrocious, but it was actually very good.

http://www.stationsinnhokitika.co.nz/index.html

Last but not least, a quick note of apology. One of our readers recently took their friends out to Binh Minh based on my last food review, and before they walked in the door their guests turned up their noses and walked down the street to a more celubrious looking establishment. For this I apologise; but I did warn you it was cheap and cheerful! No more "hasty tasty" reviews from me, I promise.

Till next time we meet, ciaou for now and bon apetit!

Kit ///

Binh Minh - a Hasty Tasty Review

2010-02-08T17:02:00.000-08:00

Binh Minh
40 Victoria Street, Richmond

Hello Cucina-rs everywhere!

I was recently talking to one of our fraternity who opined "You must be made of money with the places you go out for meals". And indeed, I admit myself guilty of the crime of putting only premium eateries in this tome to date. I'm sorry, it's true! Guilty as charged! Hands up, I'm a snob!

But what about the every day affair? What if I've got $20 and a need to feed? Surely we don't have to resort to fish n chips or Maccas? Relief is at hand! I'm now doing my version of Cheap Eats - though for the purposes of plagiarism I'm calling it "Kit's Cucina Hasty Tasty!" And to celebrate, I'm even including a video!

I know, a video, on the computer? Qu'est qu si que ca? Well apparently there's this thing called You Tube, and I've included a trial video review of Binh Minh. Just like having a meal with me, without the calories (you lucky thing)!

But first a couple of notes about Victoria St and Binh Minh. Victoria Street, alleyway of Asian delights, has been a long established centre for Asian food in Melbourne - particularly Vietnamese food. The range is wide and prices modest. Many people new to the area are drawn to the glamorous looking establishments such as Tho Tho and the recently renovated Tran Tran with their brushed aluminium, white walls and Western sensibilities. Walking past you'll see predominantly white people eating, many after the football or cricket at the MCG and I like to think of these venues as the out of towners destinations.

The other extreme of restaurant are the "pho" (pronounced "fur?") shops - where you can buy noodley soups for about $7 which are probably the equivalent of a vietnamese hamburger. Great for brunch, lunch or afternoon tea after shopping, probably best avoided if you're out to impress.

In selecting a venue, I'd encourage you to take a few things in mind:

* Is it new? If so, go there! The old maxim "We try harder" is certainly true and you'll find yourself getting not only a new menu to look at but discounts, free soft drinks and super keen service!

* Is it packed? This could go either way. It won't assure you of good food, but will ensure long waits. If there is a heavy asian contingent (of customers, not waiting staff) inside, the signs are good.

* Is it clean? Enough said.

I find my preference for eating along the strip is to pick a place that is bright and cheery that smacks of up-town cafeteria. Plastic benches and tea cups are fine, so long as accompanied by fast service and a chatty atmosphere. Thy thy 1 is an old fave upstairs - the food is average to fair, but the staff are all related (to each other), and have been working there for at least ten years. I feel like I'm going to visit my uncles!

I've chosen Binh Minh to review predominantly because I like the owner Minh, an extremely personable man. Their menu is consistent, is a blend of vietnamese and malay food, and does have some gems for the gourmets. A recent highlight I discovered off the back of an Age food review is the prawn stuffed eggplant - a highly popular item on their menu since the review, and quite toothable. You'll note in the video that the food we ordered was mostly deep fried and pretty retro, but I think when dining out it's nice to follow your mood.

Apologies for the sideways view of the street shots. This is my first time, so we're all learning. Hopefully it doesn't make you sea sick! On the hasty tasty scale, I rate Binh Minh 6 tentacles out of 8, 5 on a bad day. Bon apetite!!

Binh Minh on You Tube!

The Deanery

2009-11-15T21:01:00.000-08:00

Bligh Place
Melbourne VIC 3000
ph: 9629 5599

Looking over past entries, I note that in many ways, literarily speaking, I've become a parody of myself. "Here's a discrete little number tucked up an alleyway in Melbourne. And watch out gastronauts!" Well, I'm sorry! But this mockery, of a debacle, of a sham is going to just keep rolling on because that's exactly the same case here!

The Deanery is a discrete little number tucked up the end of a pretty discrete little alleyway.. and watch out gastronauts discrete or otherwise! I guess this venue is a direct result of the post-Kennett CBD eatery and bar explosion that makes such statements cliched. But what a cliche! Like "a thousand dollar hooker"! Built in an old carpark, with a secure and temp controlled wine storage facility, groovy decor and a well considered menu mean, you could eat here every day and you'd never eat or drink the same thing twice - mostly due to penury.

My first memories of this restaurant come bar are from my last days at VU's Graduate School of Business in the city. If you know where that is, you won't have trouble finding it. Basically, it's at the end of an alley off Flinders Lane near Elizabeth St - a lane it shares with a bar called Robot which most Gen Y-ers seem to know.

My history with this place is a long one. I was taken there for my farewell lunch where I ate some of the most memorable scallops on the shell I've ever eaten; and my boss got caned for using the corporate credit card for it. And I used to catch up with my friend Paul there; he's a bit of a glamourpuss, and had organised discount rates on bottles of French champagne over the bar. And last but not least, when I blew up the elctrics on the old Saab by putting the battery in the wrong way, I quickly took Jane there before I had to pay the mechanics.

Not much has changed at the Deanery in the last six years. It doesn't look tired. The fit out is a little dated, early 2000's, but there's so much wood and strips of bamboo, etc. that it's timeless. And it's still a place to go and blow the last of your cash before the outside world catches up with you!

Across the back wall of the restaurant, a mezzanine at the back, there's an impressive looking sealed glass wine storage facility. It holds the restaurant's cellar and you can store six cases there for as little as $25 per month with card swipe access. Drinking your own booze on site attracts a $10 corkage, but if you're from an office at 303 Collins and are looking for a place to quickly go and knock the top of a Grange between meetings, it's really not a bad option.

There's a special menu at lunch at $35 for two courses, but they'll get you on the wine and extra side dishes. My companion at lunch there in October asked where the rest of his entree was! The food is perhaps a bit on the "nouvelle cuisine" side, as made popular in the 80's; big white plates with small artworks in the middle.

I had the mulloway which was just delicious with sides of lyonnaise potatoes - sans the bacon, quel dommage! (which I've subsequently learnt to spell, thanks Babel Fish!!) - and a crisp green salad.

It won't run to everyone's taste, but the service is good and the menu delicious. If you're feeling cashed up and generous, you could do much worse. I rate it 6 and a half tentacles out of 8! Bon apetite!!

Visit their site online at:

http://www.thedeanery.com.au

Libertine French Dining Room

2009-09-30T23:12:00.000-07:00

500 Victoria St
North Melbourne VIC 3051

Have you ever been to France? Have you ever eaten at paper covered French tables, candlelight and rich saucy foods? Degustation, verily? So too, you will find gourmet dining in the old tradition at the Libertine, with flock gold wallpaper upstairs under black chandeliers and a simple bar style atmosphere downstairs, it's a hard statement to beat. But be warned; degustation is the next door neighbour of disgustation... from too much food! I've read that death rates rise during boom times from access to excess, and after this visit I can believe it!!

Our visit to the Libertine was certainly a splendid affair. Jane and I were catching up with friends for a birthday (hello Fiona!) and I was pleasantly surprised to be going to a fancy place I'd never heard of yet again. Our wires got a little crossed, and we arrived half an hour before everyone else but the staff plied us liberally with the complimentary bubbles (not brut, qu'elle damage) so by the time the rest of the party arrived we were brimming over. Fantastic.

The menu was set (with four or so choices a course, by four courses) and the champers ran as long as the hors d'oeuvres lasted: duck liver pate, a single tortellini with a crab (?) filling in a purree de bonne femme, a savoury puff pastry with creme fraiche, maybe more?

Roll on the entree. It's a set price four courser, so I guess we'd best gird our loins and lay on. From onion soups with baked tops, rustic terrines to artistic piles of fish and ornamental works, lovely. White wine anyone?

Who's going with me on the game bird for two? She would be a game bird taking on Lachy and I, but I'm always up for a threesome. Oh my, it is rich! A partridge you say? And where is the pear accompaniement? Just the rich sauce, baked beetroot, et al? How's the steak? More red wine???

Oh, my godfather, that's done it. No more. What? There's dessert, fixed price? What did I order. The fruit. Phew... ah, baked apple pastries with cream and pastry. Coffee? No, I urp...

Oh, it's the birthday girl's night of nights, and there's follow up birthday cake! I...I can't eat another mouthful.
Oh, go on monsieur, it is only wafer thin!
Fuck off. I've had enough. Jeez, I'm going to have to take a stroll around the traffic lights. It's cold out here - freezing - but at least I'm upright and gravity is pulling the food down.

Take my advice. Order food as you need it if you get the rather impressive pleasure of dining at the Libertine. "Viva le France! Pass the Mylanta!!" I rate it six and a half tentacles out of eight.. no seven! Check them out at:

http://www.libertinedining.com.au/main.html

Gingerboy Restaurant

2009-09-10T18:57:00.000-07:00

27-29 Crossley Street
Melbourne 3000

Down the alleyway beside Pelligrini's - right next door to Becco (my favourite restaurant) -stands the Asian black laquered disco that is the restaurant Gingerboy.

I'd heard so much about it. "It's a smash, it's a tidal wave, it's the biggest thing on Broadway!" (or was that in the Producers?). Whatever, like Max Bialystock I found myself (inwardly) shouting at home after the meal "You lousy fruit, you've ruined me!".

My review may also be jaded by having gone immediately beforehand to the best bar I've been to in about two years (see Seamstress Review this blog). Still, Gingerboy was groovy (especially their font use, and web site) and specialises in "hawker style food" - South East Asian food with a twist.

The decor is based very much on the busy trattoria style. We were are crammed in together with the other customers (a full restaurant, alweays a good sign) and there was a definite buzz in the room. The walls and roof are decorated with black bamboo intersperesed with fairy ights and the decor is, as suggested above, an oppulent Asian disco. Meanwhile, the staff are trendy and friendly; the two "y" words you'd prefer in waiting staff (as opposed to filthy, bitchy or stuffy).

The food is delivered as a shared dish experience, and we started with a few entries and moved on to only a couple of mains. I made a point of ordering the much vaunted "Son In Law eggs" a whole egg cooked in coconut milk (or something), and served with chili jam. I understand it's their signature dish and we were encouraged to pop the whole eggs into our mouths to enjoy "the taste explosion". But, quel horreur! Our female companions baulked at this, and when the waiting staff saw that the yolks weren't runny, they ran (unsolicited) and fetched us complementary replacements and removed the charge from the bill. But still, after eating two hard boiled eggs in one meal, I was slightly over egged by the finish and could taste them at 3 o'clock in the morning.

The oysters were nice, but I wouldn't bother with double orders on them, and the salt and pepper chicken spare ribs were a definite winner. For mains we enjoyed the red duck curry and caramelised ox cheeks, attended by more of the chili jam.

An honest and groovy affair, we escaped drinking two bottles of wine and dinner for four for under $100 per head. Still, it left me little jaded and certainly groaning with food and rich food indigestion. I rate it six tentacles out of eight!

I'd highly recommend that you check out their website. It won last year's Age Good Food Guide restaurant website of the year, which was plainly created by the same studio that knocked up ezards website (I suspect the people behind Gingerboy are the same as those who are responsible for ezards as well, but this has a new theme). Anyway, the address is:

www.gingerboy.com.au

Seamstress Bar and Restaurant

2009-09-10T18:34:00.000-07:00

113 Lonsdale Street
Melbourne

On going out for dinner the other night with friends, they suggested we meet at a bar beforehand. Little did I realise that the experience would overshadow the main restaurant we were to later attend. Hip, upstairs, great decor and music and an extremely expensive/impressive cocktail bar, Seamstress is the perfect place to pop in for a vodka martini or two before dancing the night away.

I'm guessing that the building is an old sweatshop. There's a bar downstairs with that name (Sweatshop) and then the flights of stairs lead up past cotton reels/spools hanging from the walls. The ceiling of the upstairs cocktail lounge is decorated with hanging lengths of fabrics and those little Asian pyjama jackets hanging from coat hangers. The bar has a distinctly 1930's / art deco look. Suited bartenders taste the cocktails they mix from straw samplers one of whom had a convincing English accent.

I enjoyed a three olive martini (not on the cocktail menu) which I was disappointed to see was stirred with a glass rod (did he think it was gin?) - but was made with Russian grain based vodka and was simply delicious ($18). This I followed up with suggestions from their cocktail menu:

Quicksilver fizz ($15)
A gin, absinthe, lemon, passionfruit syrup and egg white number - a simple twist on the silver fizz

Followed by something the bar staff recommended made with rum and a foam egg white head featuring raspberry dots on top ($17).

Snacks included peanuts heated through with spices (delicious) and prawn crackers.

The music also left me mightily impressed. A mix of acid jazz, lounge, soul and funk. I even heard James Brown while there.

An alcoholics delight, I rate it seven wobbly tentacles out of eight!!

Visit them online at:
www.seamstress.com.au/

Pearl Restaurant

2009-08-04T00:21:00.000-07:00

631–633 Church Street
Richmond Victoria 3121

Like going to any block buster movie you've heard great reviews of, you're inevitably disappointed when you finally get to see it.

"But what about the exploding fire truck?"
"Eh, I saw it coming."
"The swinging midgets hanging from the helicopter?"
"Boring."
"Come on, how about the latex love scene?"
"Ho-hum."

So too Pearl, though it was certainly one slick affair to remember.

We recently visited Pearl as a study in design, marketing, public relations, etc. on our corporate development day. It won best new young chef and also won the best service awards in the Age Good Food Guide, so we arrived with high expectations.

The decor was light and airy, the front door opened magically as we approached and I might add that the food was delicious. The bill was impressively top end - but I don't know, I left feeling slightly deflated. Could it have been the waiting staff? Fast and compliant, they seemed to lack a bit of the bon homie I've come to expect in truly great dining experiences. Austerity went out with snooty French waiters looking down their noses at people using the incorrect cutlery. And trust me, we used the right cutlery. Still, I can understand their being a little reserved, some of the clientele there were scary; at those prices I imagine it's only the "let's cut the balls off the competition" type people who can afford to eat there regularly.

The pearl meat entree and modern takes on sashimi were simply delicious. My advice would be to probably focus on the pescatorian side of the coin; a restaurant called Pearl has obviously chosen a fish themed name for a reason. That said, the red duck curry is a specialty de maison, but only eat it if you avoided entree. They're also famous for their desserts a la Turkish Delight, fairy floss and coconut ice (refer to Geraldine of Camberwell's recipe in the original Disco Volante... or was it edition 2?).

The wine list was excellent and the somnalier outdid himself with his selections of wines to match what was a quite diverse dining experience. Rich food, pleasant surroundings, scared stiff staff - it took my intestinal tract 24 hours to recover.

I give it 7 tentacles out of 8 (it really was good).

To find out more visit:

www.pearlrestaurant.com.au

Il Solito Posto

2009-07-26T23:28:00.000-07:00

Basement, 113 Collins St (*entry George Parade)
Melbourne VIC 3000

Il Solito Posto - "the usual place". Located down an alleyway between Collins St and Flinders Lane beside 101 Collins St, it's directly across from Italy I and Jamie Oliver's concept restaurant Fifteen. On one of my many visits there, we managed to get in through the barriers of the G8 summit by telling them we were popping in for something to eat. Great security!

Little has changed since the very first time I stumbled in out of the rain, alone and hungry (a different occassion to the G8 Summit). They gave me a table next to a book shelf where I took down a ripped version of 'Vintage Stuff' by Tom Sharpe. I'd never read Sharpe before (also the author of 'Wilt') and before I knew it I was enjoying myself immensly - wine, pasta and great reading entertainment. Il Solito Posto has since become one of my favourite places to eat alone, which I did quite recently and realised it was about time I gave it a mention in my blog.

Checking out their website, I see they now describe themselves as "ENOTECA, CAFFETERIA, TRATTORIA" - which would really get up some of my friends' noses as being overly pretentious. It's trendy to throw around Italian words in gastronomic marketing these days, but the place does have a genuinely Italian feel.

Forget about a date or dinner for a large group. The place is a crowded narrow room which faces a bar teaming with convivial staff who will, none the less, see all of your romantic dinner disaters or fail to juggle enough to all of your party. Take a seat alone at the bar however, and talk to cheery staff who all have a nose for a good drop and don't mind entertaining.

The wine list is impressive. The food menu fits on two pages, the wine runs to around a dozen. A wide range of varieities and nationalities, you camn get lost in it. Take the easy way and ask what they'd recommend. There's always something that's a hit at the time.

It's strange. The place should look as threadbare as an old couch with the amount of use it gets and the length of time it's been there - and how little it's changed - but I guess someone must give it a lick of paint every few months.

Wine, pasta and the joy of solo dining. I give it six tentacles out of eight!

To find out more, visit:

http://www.ilsolitoposto.com.au

Oysters

2009-06-22T00:32:00.000-07:00

Some love them, some hate them. Instant death or aphrodisiac, oysters remain the enigma of the dining world. And now, in the heart of Melbourne's winter, is the best time to eat them. "How can you stand them?" Ive been asked by bug eyed weirdos who stare google eyed as I let another slip gracefully into my mouth. It's not a huge leap and possibly one of the most delicious morsels that can be consumed (not to mention a fantastic source of zinc which is very good for male "downstairs" health). Follow a few basic steps and you're guaranteed of a delicious dining experience that won't threaten your life.

Step 1. Never eat them in a month with an "R"

I got this useful piece of advice from Noel, publican at the Builders Arms Hotel in Fitzroy, one afternoon as we sat on the street eating oysters and drinking white wine (I think it was a Sav Blanc).

"Never eat them in a month with an R? Qu'est que si que ca?" I asked, impersonating Harry Hill (Actually, it's Finsbury Park: "Do they mean me? They surely do!")

It transpires that oysters spawn in warmer weather, as the water temperature heats up and this makes oysters taste a little "cloudy". Add to this the thought that you're decimating numbers while they breed and that in warmer weather the protein rich oysters are ideal breeding grounds for bugs, then it's kind of obvious that this is the wrong time of year to eat oysters.

Apparently this is the obverse rule for the northern hemisphere, who rule that you cannot eat oysters in a month without an R. But then, they get extra months of oyster eating, so if autumn hasn't been to fierce I think you can relax the rule to include late May and extend the season into September. Christmas oysters are, I'm afraid, black banned.

Step 2. Ensure they are freshly shucked

Shucking is the opening and preparation of the oyster. The process goes something like this. Whole oysters live on rocks, farmers come and break them off and pop the whole oyster (both top and bottom lid intact) into a wet hessian bag for transporting. The little live oysters sit huddled in the sack, much like kidnapees of the Hobyar man, where they can live for up to two weeks while waiting to be eaten.

At the fish mongers, someone (maybe you) comes along with a short flat knife. You insert it into the hinge of the oyster (because if you try and pry an oyster open where the lips close, the shell smashes). Insert the knife near the tendon and prise it open. One half should flip off. The next trick is to cut the connecting tendon of the oyster off the lid of the shell. And there you have it, one ready to eat "shucked" oyster.

The problem? Once an oyster is open, it dies. It lies in the open shell and exposes it's lovely self to the air and all passing germs, bugs, sneezes and other nasty airborne apocrypha. And now, with centralised warehousing at major supermarket chains, oysters can be opened days in advance, shipped hundereds of kilometers and then sit there waiting to be bought, all the time open and exposed to the air. I absolutely refuse to buy oysters from Safeway Wonthaggi, and that's the only place in town you can buy them. Go to a market!

Step 3. Keep them cold

Do not eat an oyster that's been sitting around warm. This is a good way to get food poisoning. Take a small esky if possible with you to the fishmongers and keep them on ice on your trip home (or down the coast).

Step 4. Sniff test

If they smell pongy, taste slightly fizzy or in any way leave you with a question mark, DO NOT EAT.

Step 5. Au natural or shooters, please

A personal bug bear of mine is the oyster kilpatrick. This recipe is possibly the best way to sully one of God's greatest achievements. I'm guessing the recipe was developed as a way to disguise slightly off osyters. The absolutely best way to eat an oyster is icy cold, with some lemon juice (the acid in the lemon cooks the fish) accompanied by white bread, butter and a really, really, cold Crown Lager.

I have to make a notable concession to oyster shooters, however, as a close second to au natural. I've been delightfully surprised by bloody mary shooters and an interesting twist they do at E-zards using Mirin and wasabi.

For more information on oysters, visit:

the walrus and the carpenter

or to find out about Ezards oyster shooters, visit:

the restaurant

or

read the epicure review...

The White Lady

2009-05-25T21:24:00.000-07:00

Cocktails Au Go Go 101.

While reading the Captain's Table by Richard Gordon (famous author of the Doctor in the House series), a mention of the White Lady cocktail came up at regular intervals. "What is it, how do I make one and why haven't I heard of this drink before?" I found myself asking me - quite pertinently I thought.

Well may I have asked myself. The recipe given: "Two jiggers of gin, one jigger of Cointreau and a jigger of lemon juice." Oranges and lemon with gin! Now there's an idea. My interest was further piqued by Cointreau's packaging as I gathered together the vital ingredients. "At the four corners of the globe. Used in the world's most famous cocktails including the white lady, the side car and cosmopolitan."

As usual with my experiments into ancient libations, the entire process was educative as well as mildly damaging to my soft tissue physiology. I found through experimentation that it's good to be heavy handed on the triple sec and back off a little on the lemon juice to get the balance. And that all important ingredient that demonstrates you're a cocktail genius? Internet reveals egg white! (Blurgh - can it be true? What about selmonella?)

Either way, here's a recipe and some interesting background information from Great Cocktails UK. For a video presentation on how to make all these variations, follow the video link at the bottom of the page! Salut!

--------------

The White Lady cocktail was first recorded in Harry Craddock's Savoy Cocktail Book in 1930, although Harry MacElhone, famed cocktail creator of Harry's New York Bar in Paris, also lays claim to having invented it in the 1920s.

It's a clean-tasting drink that needs to be drunk very cold.

You need:

2 parts gin
1 part Cointreau
1 part lemon juice
Shake the ingredients together well with ice. Strain into a frosted cocktail glass and serve.
Some recipes include an egg white, which adds a smoothness to the drink.
For a Pink Lady, add a dash or two of grenadine.
Replace the Cointreau with blue Curacao for a Blue Lady.
And for the Perfect Lady, use crème de peche instead of the orange liqueur.

Video how to link here!

Cutler and Co.

2009-05-25T16:53:00.000-07:00

55-57 Gertrude Street, Fitzroy.
ph: 9419 4888, email: info@cutlerandco.com.au
www.cutlerandco.com.au

The pen is rusty but the spirit is willing. Much could be said to be the same with Cutler and Co. A rustic fit out in an old cutlery factory at the - dare I say it? - mental patient end of Gertrude St. Homeless shelters abound and it's located a handy stone's throw from Turning Point. Still, the the edgeyness of the neighbourhood adds to its charms; plus it is just a couple of blocks from work!

A cocktail bar at the front with excellent martinis can also be used for a drop-in quick bite, since they don't take bookings in this section. The main restaurant has been tastefully fitted out without having gone to too much expense; the loos are in a large black box reminiscient of tawdry cocaine nightclubs.

While the menu is unavailable online for reference, after all it is constantly changing and it's a competitive jungle out there, I was impressed with it's brevity and yet wide range. Something for everyone, including oysters in different guises, a favourite. I had and can recommend the quail entree; beautifully cut and presented it was almost like crispy quail sashimi. Jane enjoyed her pork, slow cooked and absolutely falling apart; the best pork she has apparently ever eaten. I think I had the fish for mains -though I'm now unsure! The whole event became slightly unhinged with my party; all thoughts pushed aside as my sister launched a tirade at the end of the meal as there was no skinny milk for her cappucino! Quel damage.

I've heard nothing but good reviews about this place, so it was disappointing the service was a bit slack the night we went (we were at the back with a party of seven and had a prickly customer or two). The waiting staff were, however, all still charming. One of my dear friends had a very romantic dinner for two with her husband - probably what this restaurant is best suited to- where they shared a pheasant baked into a loaf of bread.

Think the cook, the thief, his wife and her lover with a disco come Home and Away overhaul. I give it six tentacles out of eight.

The Station Hotel

2009-02-27T17:22:00.000-08:00

59 Napier St
Footscray VIC 3011
ph: 9687 2913
www.thestationhotel.com.au

What was ostensibly an old man’s pub only a few years ago, the Station Hotel has been transformed into what I have been reliably informed is a gastro-pub; and no, you won’t get a stomach complaint. Apparently it’s become the project of Sean Donovan, formerly of the Botannical Hotel - and that’s how good it is!

The outside looks unpromising, a blue trimmed corner pub looking down at heel 80’s, but step inside the refurbished dining room and be transported to the watering hole of the literati and glitterati of the West.

The restaurant has a high end menu, featuring some fantastic seafood, but apparently they take particular pride in their steaks- all of which were surprisingly good. The top of the line is a Gippsland (VIC) grass fed Black Angus rib eye at $38 (and not the Wagyu that also graces the menu). I’d go out on a limb and say it was the best steak I’ve had in two years.

Served with hand cut chips, salad and béarnaise sauce with just a touch of tarragon, it really was a meal to remember. I’d also recommend washing down your fleshy feast with a glass of Heathcote Shiraz – the wine menu is short but excellent.

The service is friendly without being OTT and while the general tenor, as against the many other pubs in Footscray and Seddon in its nearby surrounds, is a little bitty “spensy”, I can only say that some times quality is wirth the price. It is little surprise to me that this won the 3AW pub of the Year . I give it 6.5 out of 8.

Enoteca

2009-02-26T17:19:00.000-08:00

229 Gertrude St
Fitzroy VIC 3065
ph: 9415 8262
www.gertrudestreetenoteca.com

You may have heard of a biblioteca – a library for books in Italy. Well an enoteca is a wine library, and it seems it’s become the trendy way to name wine bars these days.

The Gertrude Street Enoteca is beautiful, lots of timber and a kind of poverty chique without the matching price tag. Some tables are made from wine boxes and the walls are covered in wines.

As a wine store, you can chose anything from the walls and pay an extra few dollars to drink it there. They also have a simple food menu – toasted panini and a “selection of cured meats”, known everywhere else as an antipasto, that is simply fantastic, with beautiful marinated olives and goats cheese.

As this venue is just down the road from Blue Vapours, a particular favourite of mine is their silver salver of oysters on the bar at $2 a pop on Friday evenings.

The seats may be a little hard, but the coffee is good. While some may decry the trendification of Gertrude St - Enoteca is, after all, like a piece of upscale Melbourne (Toorak?) landing on the old streets of blood – if you like a tipple and a fancy nibble, they are reliable. I rate it 5 out of 8.

The European

2009-02-22T17:43:00.001-08:00

161 Spring St
Melbourne VIC 3000
ph: 9654 0811
www.theeuropean.com.au

Welcome to what makes Melbourne great as the food destination of Australia. It’s not this venue, in itself, but what it represents about Melbourne food.

Welcome to what makes Melbourne great as the food destination of Australia. It’s not this venue, in itself, but what it represents about Melbourne food. The European has been around a long time. Its quiet café interior is casual and reminiscent of, well, Europe. And the food is excellent, without being budget breaking.

Located opposite Parliament House and in the theatre district, excess wooden chairs hang from hooks on the wall at the back and the staff are relaxed in their professionalism and black aprons.

On my most recent visit there, I had the Manchego, an aged Spanish cheese, with fig salami as an appetiser - which I must say was an education. The fig salami was just that – figs. Rather like a fig paste. I can’t say that I’d have it again, but it was tasty and washed down with one of their European beers was an excellent start. I enjoyed a Czech Pilsner.

As a piscean, I am a fastidious fish eater, and think that the hallmark of any restaurant is the quality of the marinara pasta they make. The number of times I’ve been disappointed by tinned clams in heavy tomato on flaccid pasta I can’t tell you. But here, magnificent! The spaghettini – al dente. The fish, all fresh. Done with a garlic infused oil coating on the pasta, a feast fit for a king!

The melon sorbet comes in traffic light colours of watermelon, honeydew and cantaloupe to create a well rounded palate cleansing experience.

If visiting Melbourne for only a short time, you could do far worse than choosing the European for lunch. I give it 7 out of 8.

Becco

2009-02-17T23:11:00.001-08:00

11-25 Crossley St
Melbourne VIC 3000
ph: 9663 3000
www.becco.com.au

Tucked down a laneway on Melbourne’s dining hill behind the Melbourne institution Pelligrini’s, I have to admit I am biased when it comes to Becco. I was taken there a few years ago by a good friend, and had such a fantastic experience that I’ve gone back many times.

But be prepared to pay the piper at the end. It has recently been elevated to a two chefs hat ranking in the Age Good Food Guide, but it is not stuffy. Indeed, the large windows overlooking the lane beside Pelligrini’s let in tonnes of light, the staff never write a thing down and the kitchen is on show at the rear.

The food is Italian in its origins, but not of the cheap and nasty pasta and pizza variety,. Primi piatis coinsist instread of choice like pan fried sardines or beef carpaccio. They do do pasta, with lobster, and could potentially be faulted for not having a comprehensive cool food menu (I went there when it was 43 degrees) but the blue eye fillet was … enter the superlative of your choice here.

There’s something reassuring about a menu that doesn’t change much, staff that have worked in the one venue for years and the immutable law that cream always rises to the top. A restaurant for the cognascenti of Melbourne‘s dining scene. 7 and a half tentacles out of 8 from me!