We’ve all got to eat so it might as well be good! I’ve been a restaurant critic for almost 20 years, and have been writing a weekly restaurant column in Melbourne’s Sunday Age since 2006.
My approach is to always take a restaurant on its own terms: there’s no point slamming a burger joint because it doesn’t have white tablecloths. I try to be constructive in my criticism and I’ve always got the diner in mind: there are many places you could choose to go. Why should it be here?
Eating a multi-course tasting menu can feel like being bludgeoned by well-meaning butterflies. Each morsel is delicate and dancingly pretty, tickling the senses with glancing blows, and so modest in size it seems unlikely any pain could ensue. Then, all of a sudden, around course six, one notices deep bruising to the appetite, desensitised taste buds and general torpor. How can butterflies be so brutal?
If you’re bored with breakfast in Melbourne, you mustn’t be trying. When you’ve munched too much muesli you can move to matcha bowls. If you’re tired of toast there are waffles in the wings. And when you’ve smashed every avocado in sight, you’ll see coconut pannacotta jiggling with excitement as its moment in the spotlight approaches.
Sometimes a restaurant opens and you can almost hear the sighs of relief around the neighbourhood followed by a hundred plans clicking into place. “Let’s go to that new joint for coffee and eggs.” “Why don’t we meet at that place on the beach road for a cheeky spritz?” “I can’t be bothered cooking – let’s just go to Beau for some steak and fish.” “We should have dinner with them: what if we head to Beau for a slap-up dinner and an easy roll home?”
Just 10 paces from one of Melbourne’s most trodden (and waited upon) stairways – the narrow steps leading to no-bookings Mexican phenomenon Mamasita – is a new staircase you need to know about. This three-cornered climb leads up to Uncle, the new city iteration of the bright and buzzing restaurant that brought modern Vietnamese to St Kilda three years ago. The CBD Uncle has taken over premises once inhabited by the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union. It’s doubtful the ladies would appreciate the smashing cocktails (I love the crisp, tart Uncle Tom’s Collins with ginger liqueur and smoked beetroot syrup) but surely they’d rock out for the lively food.
If there’s one word that describes Roxborough, it’s ‘open’. I don’t mean that it’s newly open, though it is that (just before Christmas), nor am I referring to its position on Acland Street, itself reopened after a dusty refurb (nice plaza but we need shade, please). I’m not even focusing on the fact that Roxborough is open all day, serving food from noon till late. What I really want to highlight is the open feel of the place, both physically and – um, am I over-reaching? – spiritually.
Some people know exactly what they want the new year to bring. If you’re Hana Assafiri, owner of Moroccan Deli-cacy, you might sum it up as peace, falafel, understanding, haloumi and empowerment, hopefully all at the same time. Assafiri is an activist, chef and businesswoman. She’s been cooking, cultivating friendships and being fabulously fierce and feminist for two decades at the Moroccan Soup Bar in Fitzroy North.
Let another year of eating Melbourne begin, and where better than at the Corner Hotel, a treasured live music venue with a sprawling, buzzing, newly renovated rooftop dining area. It’s one of those highly congenial ‘we’ve got you covered’ scenarios: there’s indoors and outdoors, smoking and non-smoking, stools and seats, a warm welcome for kids and a sanguine understanding that grown-ups can get semi-rowdy. Bookings are welcomed, including for private parties.
We were sitting by the kitchen hatch where I could see the action. I loved watching the chefs folding omelettes, piling burgers and scattering chia seeds with that careful orders-are-rolling-in combination of speed and delicacy. But it was a bit noisy for mum and dad so I thought I’d check upstairs. And that’s where I found one of the best outdoor rooms in Melbourne, a rooftop deck with cushioned benches and high walls, a sun trap with umbrellas, a space that’s crying out for sunset drinks and cheese platters (stand by for the liquor license – exactly such plans are afoot).
If there’s one thing that’s important about a neighbourhood restaurant it’s that the owners understand the neighbourhood. They know the locals because they are the locals. They respect their rhythms and preferences: if they’re earlybirds, whether they need almond milk in their coffee, if they’re happy to dig into a share plate or prefer their own main course, thank you very much.
Well, that’s a relief. I don’t care how hot it gets now, because I’ve found the key dish for summer. It’s Smith and Daughters’ spiced melon salad: fat bricks of watermelon, cantaloupe and honeydew are casually jumbled with pickled pineapple, jalapeno peppers and mint. It’s oh-so-fresh in attitude and flavour, hydrating and cold, chilli-spiked and sparky. I foresee baking hot north-wind days when this is all I want to eat.
