Hieronymous the Anonymous

Getting to The Point, ha, ha

It was the yoga teacher's birthday over the weekend so I took her out for dinner Friday night. We went to The Point restaurant, perched on a small headland in an out of the way corner overlooking Albert Park lake, where the Grand Prix is held.

I've been meaning to go to The Point for quite a while. Their food in general and steaks in particular are widely lauded as being superior. The Point is one of those unusual restaurants where a superb location is actually matched by superb food. In my experience most restaurants with million dollar views have $4.99 food. It's almost as if it is sufficient to be well located - never mind the food, look at the vista! 

There are exceptions to this, but I challenge you to have a think about it - the exceptions are few. Thankfully The Point is one of them. Sitting by the lake the upper level restaurant has a nice view by day, but by night it becomes something else. The dark water of the lake glistens in the moonlight, and in the reflected lights of the city over yonder, thrusting and brightly lit. It is both romantic if the occasion calls for that, and interesting. It is a journey worth making.

Even if it it were not so well situated then it would be well worth seeking out. The jury is out, but the meal I had on Friday was among the best I've had this year.

I had stuffed chicken wings, but unlike any chicken wings you've ever seen or eaten (Caramelised stuffed chicken wings, pumpkin gnocchi, emulsion of potato and black truffle). These were rich, indulgent treats, full flavoured slivers of tender chicken with delicate pumpkin gnocchi and an earthy smear of truffle sauce. As we say in the restaurant review business, yummo.

For main I had the daily special, which happened to be a wet aged rump steak from Tasmania served with a red wine jus, heritage carrots (ie purple) an onion ring and scallions. All of this was perfect. The Point is said to be the best steak restaurant in Australia, and this was good proof of it. 

The steak came to me sliced into about four thick slivers, revealing pink, perfectly cooked meat that was meltingly tender. The flavour was spot on and with the accompaniments it was a near ideal meal. (Refer photo's for these meals - poor quality due to the lighting and because they were taken on my iPhone).

One thing that had been very evident from the start was the effort put into presentation. Not only did it all taste great, it looked as pretty as a picture - in fact, as if arranged by an artist. This was just as obvious in the yoga teachers seafood as it was my meals.

We shared desserts. I had a kind of deconstructed, post-modernist pineapple crumble  with coconut ice-cream, the sort of thing Derrida might have whipped up had he become a chef rather than a philosopher. The other was the standard restaurant issue but delicious creme brulee, everyone's favourite after all, this one being flavoured with green tea. 

The only thing to add was that we had a lovely bottle of bubbles to celebrate her birthday, and the service was uniformly excellent. Definitely worth checking out, particularly for special occasions.

The yoga teacher was in a party mood so we drove down the road a little and stopped at Lina's Wine Bar in Albert Park, which is a very Parisian bar that has been around forever and has a loyal stable of locals, very much like its French cousin. More bubbles there and more conversation as remote memories bubbled to the surface - of a woman I had drinks with there maybe 9 years ago, and another around the same time who was a publicist and spoke big like publicists do about her London celebrity friends and who was very big into sex. That's all I remembered though, very vague.

To continue the culinary theme I went out for lunch on Sunday to a newly refurbished hotel just around the corner from where I live. The Beehive Hotel was a very ordinary, very basic pub for many years, but somewhat like a moth caterpillar becoming a butterfly it has been transmogrified into Barkers, a foodie pub of the highest order. It retains much of the original decor - the lovely coloured stone floors, the high moulded ceilings, the little fireplaces - and has built into it a nice casual eating area, a more formal dining room and a little beer garden excellent come the balmy evenings of summer.

It's a project of Michael Lambie's, the chef at Taxi in the city, and the food has that touch of class. It is still got that pub flavour, but it's high end pub, simple, but with the touch of something special.

I had a simple veal schnitzel, a good sized piece of meat coated in a crispy coating of crumbs and served on a wooden chopping board with a wedge of lemon and the most delicious mustard coleslaw. Dessert was equally good. It might have been hotter than July outside (or January), but I couldn't resist the indulgence of the chocolate fondant with it's gooey, rich, chocolaty fudge oozing from its innards. 

I don't know if it's a problem, but I just so love good food.

Blind tasting

Image via Wikipedia

Thursday night was a lot of fun, but perhaps a little messy. Over the course of 5 hours I had about 12 glasses of wine and two cleansing ales. In between times delicious finger food prepared by the Seamstress cook was brought around on platters for our delectation. The venue was interesting - the suburban offices of Jeremy Oliver - and the crowd varied. I had fun.

The theory was that each of the 12 wines served on the night were matched to the food. There were a variety of wines, from Prosecco and sparkling Shiraz, to Riesling, Chardonnay, a brace of Pinot Noir's and the wine of the year - which we'll leave to later. Each of the wines were introduced by Jeremy Oliver, and were universally good. Really quite a treat for a wine lover.

In between times we mixed and mingled. There were a couple from my footy club I was surprised to see, Alec Epis, a great footballer in his day, recent board member and pretty good wine maker in his own right was one; the other the recently retired CHF of the team, Scott Lucas. I'd like to blame the prosecco, but I found myself uncharacteristically star-struck as I shook Scotty's hand. I've met him before, but I guess that's generally at times when I expected to. On Thursday I fear I may have acted like an awed kid searching for an autograph.

Mingled with a few others, including a antiques auctioneer I'm hoping to see, some attractive types, a few winemakers, and the various scions from good families, nice people all.

We left at about 1am I guess, but that was not before we'd each had a glass of the wine Jeremy Oliver awarded wine of the year status to. Perhaps it's no surprise it went to one of the great labels of Australian, if not the greatest: Grange Hermitage, this one the 2004 vintage.

It was lovely as you would expect of a wine that retails around the $600 mark. Speaking later to the winemakers they raved about it. And towards the end of the night when I asked Jeremy Oliver what was the best Australian wine he'd ever tasted he said the 1953 Grange - but this was next best and still had a lot of improvement in it.

I slept like a baby.

Home of the coffee nerd

Image via Wikipedia

Melbourne has been long been passionate about it's coffee, but in recent times that has been elevated into a science. The place is chock-full of coffee nerds searching out the best macchiato or latte, the best coffee roaster or barista, and then squirreling on about it to like minded nerds. I'm not fond of the nerd appellation, but I'm similarly passionate about my coffee. I source only the best beans, often getting them from specialised roaster by mail order, I grind my own beans to ensure it's just the way I like it. Half of my friends are similarly nerdful.

Melbourne has been one of the leading coffee cities in the world probably since about 1990, when the public consciousness switched from instant coffee and the occasional frothy cappuccino to coincide with the emergence of a multitude of cafes throughout the laneways and arcades of the CBD, and through the inner city suburbs. At the same time coffee making came to be seen as an art - hence the barista, a groovy job looked on with respect and envy by many, and as something similar to being a good sommelier in status.

In recent years this has gone through the roof. There is probably some aspect of navel gazing in the universal reverence for coffee in this city, and the self congratulation that goes along with that. There are plenty of coffee snobs in Melbourne, and the success of a cafe will depend entirely on the quality of the coffee they put out - there is nothing more important, certainly not in the CBD where workers vote with their feet. And when Starbucks dared to open here Melbourne looked down its collective nose at them - and Starbucks failed (it's not just that the coffee lacked individuality, or that it was an American chain store - I would contend Starbucks took coffee too lightly for Melburnians taste. In a city where coffee is put out by craftsmen working in boutique cafes the mass produced department store approach is never going to work. As I said, Melburnians are great coffee snobs, but they are also purists, and know just what they want). Coffee drinking and making in the city is a serious business, and is without doubt a pretty central part of our local culture.

It has now got to the point that it also a very big business, with industries and sub-cultures all consequent of that. There are now professional coffee tasters much as there are wine tasters. The technology roasting, grinding and creating your cup of coffee has become incredibly innovative. (St Ali in South Melbourne and its sister operation, Outpost, in South Yarra, are good examples of fine coffee being taken to the nth degree). It's hard to think of another city in the world that takes its coffee as seriously as what Melbourne does, and there is good reason to think that Australia is the coffee capital in the world.

All this is good I guess for someone living here and with a passion for coffee - and yet I feel a slight misgiving at how far cafe society has progressed in the last 20 years. Is it too much? It's hard to make that claim when the quest for a good coffee counts so high. And yet I wonder if we have made too much of it. In a way it's the old difference between the amateur and the professional, one does it for love, and may fumble doing it, the other for profit - though doubtless there is still much passion. In considering this I feel a little like the man who has been sweetly flirting with a pretty girl on the tram, only to discover she's a burlesque dancer in her spare time. There's a certain piquancy, but also a subtle loss of innocence...

My cooking challenge

Image via Wikipedia

It's entirely predictable, but so what? Watching Julie & Julia yesterday gave the itch to do more cooking myself. It's an itch I've given a scratch too every so often, but it's time now to do more than that.

I nearly became a chef. By that I mean when I was tossing up the career ahead of me chef was one of them. I loved food, loved eating, quite liked cooking and was pretty good at it. That I didn't was partly because I didn't want to ruin a hobby by making a job of it, and because I just couldn't see myself as a chef.

I still cook, though not nearly as much as I used to. I don't get enough excuses to cook unfortunately. Busy days, a social lifestyle, and cooking for one or two count against cooking anything too extravagant. That's about to change.

In the movie Julie sets herself to cook hundreds of recipes over the course of the year. It's a tall order cooking classic and often intricate recipes every day. Well, I'm not about to do that, but I'm going to try something.

I've been thinking about this. I want to eat this great food. I want to enjoy it. And I want to prepare it myself. I'm not going to make a dish a day, I'm not even sure I can manage a dish a week. I've decided on a goal of three meals a month. By a meal I mean the complete thing, including entree and dessert as desired. I like the idea of classic recipes that I have neglected for many years - including the boeuf bourguignone that featured so centrally in the movie. I'll be trying Julia Child's version.

I don't have Julia Child's book, but I have an old cookbook by Robert Carrier inherited from my Aunt. I have several of Stephanie Alexanders and Maggie Beers. I'll make a mix of meals, from the French classics to classics from other cuisines.

Shoot, I'm asking a lot of myself, but it should be fun, and I'm sure my friends will appreciate it.

The upside of civilisation

I always think that breakfast is the most civilised meal of the day. When you consider that it's pretty odd really - and yet it feels true. More often than not breakfast is a pretty casual affair, and occasionally pretty sloppy. Many a time I've thrown on the nearest available clothes after a big night and slopped up the road and licked my lips in anticipation of the big cooked breakfast. Often I've eaten it bleary eyed with the newspaper spread out on the table in a manner that is anything other than formal. That's the crux really, for me at least, breakfast is far from the most formal meal of the day - but it is the most civilised.

In the back of my mind I picture the sort of breakfast I have never had. You know those classic English breakfasts of kippers and tea poured from a silver teapot by an availing butler, Bertie Wooster being looked after by the ubiquitous Jeeves. And I've got a notion that foremost amongst the civilising influences the colonial English brought to the various peoples they lorded it over it was a good cup of Darjeeling and the leisurely breakfast.

Leisurely I think is the key word there. Sunday morning sitting down for breakfast and the working week seems an eternity away. You move slowly, without hurry in any aspect, idly conversing about whatever comes to mind, reading the paper perhaps, or perhaps simply looking out at the world as it sleepily unfolds around you. You have your coffee and your breakfast and recline - all good. Another coffee? Why not - it's a fine idea. And so the time dribbles away, indulgently so.

The fact to that remove yourself from home to eat breakfast out is significant. Anyone can slurp up a bowl of corn flakes in between getting set for work. There's nothing civilised about that. And even if you sit down to enjoy it is more functional than leisurely. No, to be truly civilised you must journey outside of home to some place where people will serve you.

That's indulgence. It's a civilised indulgence. It is the whim of the rich man to forego everything for this simple but refined pleasure. Good thing is, you don't have to be rich to enjoy it.

So then, question, if the Sunday brunch is the most civilised thing since somebody decided to make toast, then where does the midweek breakfast rank in the pantheon of civilisation?

Okay, rule out those congealed offerings at so-called breakfast meetings and presentations. It may be technically breakfast but is entirely against the spirit of it. I mean the real thing, Sunday breakfast on a Wednesday say?

I ask because that's what I did during the week. I hopped in the car on Wednesday and drove 5 minutes up the road to check out a place on my list, Home, in Burwood road. I sat by the window and looked out over the road lost in my own thoughts. I'd chatted to the guy behind the bar coming in, and ordered the regulation brekky of poached eggs, toast and mushies with coffee and juice. That's always good. And afterwards I sat there in no particular hurry wondering what was next even though I had a full list of things to be done. I sat and looked out and with half a mind listened to them do the newspaper quiz behind me. 

Eventually I left, but I reckon that's as civilised as it gets. And I guess that makes me a civilised man. Got it's upside civilisation.

Gastronomic juices

I don't normally plug other blogs, largely because I'm an arrogant bastard, but also because it seems somehow elitist - I may be arrogant but I'm damned if I'm elitist. Anyway, I'm making an exception on this occasion.

Melbourne Gastronome is the blog of - guess what? - a Melbourne gastronome. To that extent I guess it has limited appeal to those unfortunates who don't reside in Melbourne, and/or are not gastronomically inclined.Of course I am one of those privileged many who live in this great city who also loves food - things that go together really, like roast meat with gravy.

I first came across her blog a couple of months ago when Fong excitedly sent me a message about it. Guess what she said, there's a photo of us on this foodie blog!* I checked it out. Sure enough, there we were, handsome H and Fong, sharing a meal on one of our regular forays out for good tucker. The thrill soon passed but I continued to read, and read, and read...

The gastronome writes about the myriad restaurants, cafes and various gastronomic nooks and crannies of Melbourne with passion and a mouth watering clarity. I think I eat out a lot, and get to some out of the way places, but the gastronome has me well and truly covered.

Reading her reviews and the descriptions of the meals she had I must admit I started falling in love with her a touch. What do they say? The way to a man's heart is through his stomach? Well, half right anyway, but true enough that I began to feel a warm glow reading her rapturous words.

It's hard not to experience an heartfelt affection towards a woman who shares so many of my pleasures - and with such gusto.** I began to actually believe she was living my life, only more so - the food, the restaurants, the weekends away. Then I figured that she's probably 20 stone with all that food. I'm happy to be a distant admirer and an avid reader - and I recommend her to all you foodies out there.

*As it happens this blog is referred too and quoted from in many contexts, but possibly none more so than when it comes to food in general and restaurants in particular. It's odd to come across these little snippets on other people's blogs, but sort of nice too. 

**For some reason I am reminded about that classic Woody Allen joke (from Annie Hall):

There's an old joke - um... two elderly women are at a Catskill mountain resort, and one of 'em says, "Boy, the food at this place is really terrible." The other one says, "Yeah, I know; and such small portions."

Well, that's essentially how I feel about life - full of loneliness, and misery, and suffering, and unhappiness, and it's all over much too quickly.

H's 2008 fine dining awards

It's been a very good eating year. If my waistline is any guide, perhaps too good a year.

I've been to many of the best restaurants in Melbourne over the last 12 months, and have already picked out next years highlights too. I've had many memorable meals and experiences over that time; have mightily indulged and in general had a great old time of it.

Last night was dinner at Fifteen, Jamie Oliver's Melbourne venture, and it was far more than I expected - but I'll come back to that later.

For all the great meals I've enjoyed this year I can only really pick out a top 4 - everything else was faded in comparison. And so, in reverse order (drum roll please), this is H's 2008 best meal list:

4. This is the simplest meal on the list, the most humble and unpretentious, but what do they say? Sometimes it is the simplest that is best. Well, 4th best anyway.

The Tin medal goes to the Courthouse Hotel, a very good pub and one of the best pub dining experiences in town. Though they have a la de da dining room this award is for the Beef and Guinness pie that occasionally appears on the bar menu. Ah, you think, I've had many a beef and guinness pie, nice, but, meh...

All I'm going to say is that this is like no other B&G pie you've had, rich, flavoursome, indulgent and ultimately moreish. say no more.

3. Bronze goes to last night's meal at Fifteen. We had the chef's degustation, complete with wine recommendations, and this meal goes to the overall experience rather than one particular dish.

The ambience is cool 70's, which may sound an oxymoron but isn't. The service is great, both knowledgeable and friendly, and food a revelation to me. From herb crusted carpaccio to the bruschetta with peas (like nothing you've had before), from the Rotolo (a rolled pasta dish) to the sirloin I had for main. The only slight disappointment was the dessert, but otherwise great.

2. The Station Hotel in Footscray earns a well deserved Silver. I went there twice this year, but this awarded for that first meal of a chunk of Rostbif served with a dark and intense pepper sauce. Magical, just as steak should be, and probably not much different to what they serve in heaven I reckon. Special mention to to the onion soup, intense and rich, the best I've had.

Okay then:

1. Funnily enough the Gold goes to another pub. I've ben to a few up-market restaurants this year but three out of the four finalists are pubs - albeit fine dining pubs. This time the lucky recipient of this much desired award goes to the Builders Arms, in Gertrude Street Fitzroy.

Once more there is a seventies theme to the decor, more outlandish than Fifteen, funky colours and plastic, all very tongue in cheek, all very successful. And the food...

The food is North African and Middle Eastern inflected, delicious flavours and creative combinations. I had the venison, which is the best I've had. Followed that up with a banana type custard which was just what a pudding should be like, decadent and irresistible. Great stuff, recommended.

So there it is, my annual fine eating awards. As they say, do yourself a favour...

Fired Up

I bought a new, you-beaut gas barbecue soon after moving into my new joint. Last weekend I properly christened it with a few guests over on Sunday.

I'm pretty particular in genreral, and doubly so when it comes to food. I love my food, and and reasonably proud of my cooking prowess. While I am the sort of cook to slap things together, a dash of this, a pinch of that, there are no half measures. I take it pretty seriously, especially when I have guests.

I prepared meticulously for the barbie last Sunday, buying the best produce, whipping up marinades, and mixing rubs into the red meat. The result of all this was that everything was pretty good, one of the best in fact, and everything as perfectly cooked as I can remember. It went down very well, especially with a few beers and a good Western Australian Shiraz.

Getting the barbecue is symbolic in a lot of ways of the new home and the new life I hope to enjoy here. It adds another dimension, both as an entertainer and in taking me out of doors. I'm pretty intent on making the most of it, and so during the week browsed through the available books on barbecuing. I took my time, and came away with a winner.

Now I'm yet to cook anything this book as yet, so the jury is out, but the recipes look and sound delicious, and the author, whilst writing well and with familiarity, has an attitude that matches mine almost perfectly. So, without having thrown anything onto the hotplate as yet I'm recommending it: Fired Up, by Ross Dobson.

Good, but not Bond

It’s that time of year again when wherever you look there’s something happening. I’m busy, busy like I always am, but at least I have an excuse for it now.

Monday night went and saw Quantum of Solace at the Rivoli. It’s a good movie, though not nearly as good as Casino Royale. The action is spectacular and exciting, Daniel Craig once more a tough and compelling Bond. What it lacks is that trademark of previous Bond movies – wit. There is the odd throw-away line, but they are few and far between, and pretty forgettable. Maybe that’s excused because the Bond of these movies is grieving; and maybe there is something of Daniel Craig in that, for while he is convincingly brutal – as a true Bond should be – he does not have that twinkle-eyed savoir faire, that dry delivery of a Sean Connery say. Even the sex - a Bond staple - is cursory and off screen.

The other thing that occurred to me was that one of the strengths of Casino Royale was that it was an adventure movie that just happened to have James Bond in it. It returned to the thrilling fundamentals of the genre, rather than the over-blown caricature some Bond movies had become. Here though that advantage has been turned. It’s great that they are thrilling still, and the character of Bond has become authentic again, but some of the Bond branding has been lost. End of the day this is not just another action movie, this is a Bond movie – and part of that is the wit, the strange gadgets and quirky characters (such as Q and Ms Moneypenny), absent from this.

Tuesday night I went to a Christmas party at Crown, the client guest of one of our travel providers. I only intended to make an appearance and head off, but end up being nearly the last to leave. Funny how many times that seems to be the case. I had a good night. I walked in and of the 150 or so guests there probably 135 were women. The food was good, wine plentiful, and I even managed a massage. As for the rest, moved between people chatting and having fun and occasionally laying it on pretty thick. Towards the end Donna arrived for a drink before giving me a lift home.

Last night was Rockpool again, the third meal there this year, and I haven’t paid for any of them.

I won a $200 voucher at last years company Christmas party. I’ve been saving it for the right time, but had to use it before the end of the month. Ended up going with Rod, which must have looked pretty gay, but at least he is a safe dinner companion.

They do everything pretty well at Rockpool. The décor is fine and elegant and perfectly aligned with the ethos of what is predominantly a steak restaurant. The service is excellent and the ambience comfortable. The food is pretty good too, and some of it exceptional. The funny thing is that while the steaks they are renowned for are very good, they’re not great. Nothing wrong with the meat, it’s spot on, tender, juicy, flavoursome. Each steak is perfectly cooked to your desire, so it’s hard for me to say exactly why I preferred the steak I had at the Station Hotel to what I’ve had at Rockpool. Perhaps it is in the actual cooking. The meat at the Station was similarly wonderful, though a slightly bigger, thicker chunk of it that had more of a char grilled, almost roasted flavour to it. There is more of a marriage between the meat itself and the cooking method, which resulted in a much more robust flavour.

A good steak you should be able to eat without any sauce or mustard or anything else. It should be complete in itself. Rockpool is minimalist and very traditional in terms of accompaniments – a jar each of béarnaise and horseradish cream, a selection of mustards. The Rockpool steak can be enjoyed without any of these, but is better with. The best steaks want for nothing added, they cannot be improved on. They’re few and far between, but a steak like that is as good as it gets.

If I would recommend anything particularly I would suggest the Wagyu Bresaola (think a very fine beef prosciutto) with mushroom toast – fantastic – and would go the grain fed rib eye on the main menu. Rib eye can be hit and miss – it can be too fatty – but at a top shelf restaurant like this you have to expect the best quality. In this case that means the fattier meat makes for a juicier, more flavoursome cut. Pretty good.     

Anyway, finished with drinks at EQ afterwards, just as we had started. Got home a little before one. Tonight is a quiet one at home.

La buena vida

As is usual I was out and about during the week. On Wednesday I caught up with Becky at Caboose on the City Square. It was a lovely evening and we sat outdoors sharing a bottle of Spanish Albarino and nibbling on bruschetta and fries and some great cheeses. Simple and good.

On Tuesday I caught up with Carmel. We catch up every 6-7 weeks I guess, and always try to go to a new bar. This time it was a place called Von Haus in Crossley Street, off the top end of Bourke. This was a real discovery. It's a very cosy space, a converted something or other, small but with a small outdoor area off of it. You walk in and there are some great aromas of cooking coming from the open kitchen that also serves as the bar. Along one wall are rows of wine, intermingled with recipe books. In the middle of the room is a large communal bench type table, with other tables around the walls. We sat by the window overlooking the street.

I've noticed lately that many more bars are stocking good quantities of European wines. Many of the wines are coming from the less exposed European areas, like Spain and Portugal. There are some lovely wines coming out of those areas, particularly Tempranillo and Albarino, two of my current favourites. Von Haus was no different. They had a list of sophisticated wines from both Europe and Australia. We sampled a good few of them.

With the wine we chose snacks from the menu, all home made. We had nuts spiced with fennel and cardamom and lavender, very moreish. Then home made dips with crisp pita bread, baba ghanoush and hummous - not normally really my favourites, but these delicious, the best I've had. Then we finished up with more cheese.