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?
There are old-timey pubs with gristly steaks, grizzly proprietors and grisly muck at the back of the coolroom. I know because I worked in one where fresh salad meant opening a tin of three-bean mix and the night’s special was curried whatever-was-on-the-turn. Then there are gastropubs, with their fancy pies, unpronounceable charcuterie, posh beef cuts and half-ironic fondness for pursuits like cricket and beard-growing. And there are places like the Rochester Hotel, swinging back around to the old-school but with new-fangled sensibilities, a happy meeting place between the two strands.
How does brunch sound? No, literally. What noise does it make? If it’s the spectacular Dessert Burger at Long Story Short, it sounds like snap-crackle-pop as tiny nuggets of popping candy celebrate sweet living. The dainty cacophony doesn’t start straight away: what you see at first is a swirled mound of pink fairy floss, decorated with flowers and freeze-dried berry sprinkles. There’s a jug of coconut milk alongside: when you pour it over the spun sugar, it dissolves to reveal a brioche ice cream burger. The popping candy is activated by the liquid and the breakfast music begins.
Croydon. Car yards. Chain eateries. To be honest, I was not expecting to come upon a creative, buoyant Thai restaurant on this six-lane highway 30 kilometres east of the city. Also, this is meat-and-three land so Holy Basil’s veg-aquarian focus felt worryingly courageous. But the happy surprises rolled along from the moment we walked in. This three-month old restaurant is smartly decorated, passionately conceived and rife with decidedly delicious food.
The sea, yes. Sand in my mouth, not so much. If I can eat with a floor underneath me and a clean window between me and the water then I am a big fan of bayside dining. If I’m sitting on a towel fighting seagulls for chips then I am not a happy chappie. The Baths Middle Brighton keeps coastal nibbles nice with unimpeded views, classy food and inside tables that let me appreciate seaspray, tickling breeze and ruffled sand without actually feeling any of them. And seagulls, feel free to look at my food and caw in covetous rage all you like!
The first thing that catches the eye at Secret Kitchen is the fish tank, apparently the largest restaurant aquarium in Melbourne and full of finned and shelled creatures lolling despondently before their sudden dispatch from tank to wok to plate. It’s a $700,000 investment delivering freshness beyond dispute. Beyond the glass and gleam, Secret Kitchen’s lavish majesty is revealed with prestige wine displays, throne-like chairs, private chambers, scores of name-tagged staff and a general air of efficient excess.
Here’s the problem. You go into a cheapie Asian restaurant, page through a menu of 150 items and feel overwhelmed. How on earth can all those dishes be good, or even fresh? One solution – my preferred – is to find out the restaurant’s specialty. At Phu Vinh, that’s hu tieu, southern Vietnam’s answer to pho. Like pho, hu tieu is a noodle soup. Also like pho, it’s a soup of many variations, so it’s tricky to define, but it’s based on clear broth (often pork but here chicken) and special noodles.
Opposite the Balaclava supermarket carpark where trolleys roam free, reverse parking is a talent unknown and unlucky down-and-outs busk badly for small change, a bright and optimistic little business has been quietly transforming. Hankook has been running as a cafe all year, smashing avocado, poaching eggs and frothing milk with assiduous care, but its Korean owners have been brewing something backstage.
Melbourne diners, there’s a new skill you need in your repertoire. It’s injecting your breakfast with condiments from a syringe. You’ll get plenty of practice at Dosage, a hip and friendly new chemistry-themed cafe hidden in a Burwood medical centre.
A woman walks into a restaurant and gets a menu, a glass of water and a banana. Want to know how the joke ends? I can’t tell you because it’s not a joke, it’s Somali tradition, expressed at this big-hearted little restaurant.
Whatever else they may be, restaurants must be logistics businesses. Without systems and rigor none of the other branches of hospitality – nice food, an appealing dining room, friendly staff – can thrive. I was thinking about that at Mr and Mrs Howell, a neighbourhood restaurant in Brunswick, while watching chef Mark Brozic toil in his open kitchen. He was there alone, feeding 40 or so diners from a menu of up to 30 dishes with hundreds of elements. At busy times, Brozic brings in a helper but it’s still an impressive feat of efficiency and focus, especially as most of the menu turns over every season.
