Archives for July 2014

381 Japone Sushi – A Star Trek cliche is fulfilled

July 26, 2014 by Andrew Christie 2 Comments

A planning session with sushi, that was the idea. We are going to the UK on holidays later in the year, and our dear friend Anna will be joining us for part of the time. As the margins for procrastination are rapidly dwindling, decisions need to be made. Who will be where, when. Enough vaguery, enough shilly-shallying. It’s time to nail this shit down. So a nice meal, some wine and some decisions, that was the plan.

We were all in a good mood, having met up at Cafe Newtown first and watched the friday night crowds arriving to be greeted by the cute looking police drug dog and about a dozen boys and girls in blue. I ducked across the road to the bottle shop to buy a bottle of Pinot Gris with a pretty drawing of a bird on the label, and then joined Strop and Anna at a shop selling polka-dotted felt hats for $19.95. “Bargain!” said Strop, reaching for my wallet.

When we got to Japone Sushi we opted for the train rather than one of the side tables. This was going to mean that there was less room for Strop’s hand-drawn calendar / spreadsheet but who can go past the option of having their food arrive on a miniature luggage carousel, especially when you are planning a holiday. It’s imperative.

So we hung our bags and coats on the backs of our stools and perched ourselves in a row and waited for the tiny trains to pull in. The first to arrive were a series of little wooden boxes with shot glasses. Oyster shooters! MMMmmmm. They were good. Look mussels. Yes! Mussels, yum. What’s next? Try this. What is it? Do you want some or not? Sure. MMMmmmm. That was good, what was it? Ceviche! In a little hipster jar! Quick grab them. Get a photo. Stop shouting. MMMmmmm. What’s that with the salmon? Watermelon. It’s got watermelon in it too. Crunchy. And smooth. Wow.

There is a slightly crazed mood that overtakes you at the start of a sushi train session. It happens with yum cha too, all the food coming past, all looking so good. Decisions need to be made quickly. This mild form of hysteria was exacerbated at Japone Sushi because there is so much fantastic looking feature food. At the bottom of their business card it says “It’s sushi… But not as you know it!” And for once that cliche is appropriate. This is sushi with a sense of fun and experimentation, and a fair bit of chilli: Spider King Roll; Volcano; Kiss of Fire; Popcorn Shrimp; Sashimi Tacos. The food was excellent, and fun. And excellent. The Pinot Gris from Orange was pretty good to.

Once we had got over our initial feeding frenzy and got to the point where our stomachs started to tell us that at some stage it is going to shut its doors and we had better start taking our time and choosing wisely, we started to talk about the holidays. The primary reason for the trip is to go to the wedding of an old but young friend at a church in Hampstead Garden Suburb. Anna is a librarian, specialising in built heritage, and she had been doing her research. “Is it the church with the tall steeple or the one with the short round tower?” Tall steeple. “When the invitation says we’ll be there with bells on – how is that? The book said the churches had no bells because the designers didn’t want to disturb the peace of the residents.” Turn of phrase. “Will we be able to spend a night at a London pub?” And a Devon pub. More than one probably. Ooh look, Kingfish Jaws, do you want one of those?

There was reminiscing about forgotten passports and East Finchley station, number 13 buses, and a fair bit of excitement. Where shall we go? Kew? Of course. The museums? There are quite a few. Galleries? Tate? Modern? No the old one. British Museum. Nice roof. Derek Jarman’s garden. Sissinghurst. Not that fussed about Bath. But it is lovely. Or Stonehenge. Highgate Cemetery? Oh yes, let’s do the tour.

As we left Anna said “I can’t remember if I’m leaving on the 8^th or the 9^th. It’s one of them, but I’m not sure if I’m mixing it up with the 19^th which is when I leave Rome. I think.” It was a planning session short on details but long on excitement.

Next up is a rock’n’roll hamburger joint. That should be fun.

379 Gigi – Again!

July 19, 2014 by Andrew Christie 1 Comment

We’ve caught up at last! After Strop’s out-of-sequence-birthday-indulgence we are finally back at Gigi. We’ve had quite a few discussions about whether to return or to skip on to the next eatery. As it has turned out tonight we are dining with friends (John, Pauline, Jill and Roy), and we don’t really think that Japone’s sushi train is well suited to a largish group and the required levels of cross table bantering. Gigi seems like a much better bet for this particular outing, so we are doing our first re-run.

One thing at Gigi that hasn’t changed is the no bookings policy. When I turn up and say that we want a table for six, the waiter just smiles and says “Really? It will be a while I’m afraid, I already have a five and a nine waiting. It could be an hour and a half.” I do a quick calculation, Roy and Jill have been overseas for 6 weeks – that should include enough adventures to keep us going while we wait for food. Having handed over my phone number we retire to the Newtown Social Club for a few bevvies while we wait. The conversation starts off in Spain then moves to Berlin before leaping to The Shire, racism, the speed at which velcroed cushions will detach under wind pressure (110 km/hr in case you’re wondering), and the national dickhead quotient (it’s on the rise according to John’s brother, and he’s an engineer so he should know).

After our first round there was a brief discussion about whether to forget Gigi and just eat at the Social Club. Luckily we decided to have another drink and see what happened. Soon after that the phone rang. Strop didn’t hang about. She was off like a shot, muttering something about “not missing out,” while the rest of us were still finishing our drinks.

Gigi was packed when the saner members of the party ambled in, so it took a moment or two to locate Strop even though she was jumping up and down and waving to us. The layout of the restaurant has changed a bit with the pizza oven moved further back which presumably makes more room for punters. The new oven is bright and shiny with white tiles on the outside, and the muscly looking blokes tending it look less orc-like than last time. This may have something to do with the fact that Peter Jackson hasn’t released a new film lately.

We ordered pizzas. Strop insisted one of them be the potato one. We ordered salads including the pear one (Pauline’s choice which almost got overlooked). We opened bottles of red wine. Lots of talking and laughing. More wine. Etc.

Sometime during this period I became confused by the fact that the waitress’s tattoos seemed to be moving around, appearing in different locations and different shapes each time she brought something to the table. It was a while before I realised that there two waitresses who looked exactly the same. “Hey, they must be sisters,” I said, possibly quite loudly, and with appropriate extravagant hand gestures. This resulted in bemused looks from both sisters, who thought I needed some help (they may be right), and apologetic smiles from Strop.

The pizzas were excellent, better than last time. I imagine that is down to the white tiles on the outside of the oven. There was the potato one, another with mushrooms, one with prawns and another one that I have forgotten. All good. All disappeared quite rapidly. For dessert there were affogatos, pannacottas and gelatos. They didn’t last long either.

Gigi was crowded, noisy and lots of fun. I think this going back to the good places thing might catch on.

But unfortunately the rules say otherwise, so next we will be pressing on to Japone Sushi for another try at conveyor belt food.

377 – Graze on King – Long live ambition

July 13, 2014 by Andrew Christie Leave a Comment

There are whispers of a new chef, overheard as the waitress ministers to the next table. Is she warning them off? Should we take heed too? Leave now, pausing only to chuck back the rest of the excellent Clare Valley riesling and Strop’s GSM, before bolting for the door? It does seem unusual that the staff would be warning the punters like that. Kind of like saying “We’ve got this new guy in – no idea how it’s going to work out.” We stayed. It was never in doubt really. What else are we going to do? Watch friday night football?

Later, as we waited for our food, it became apparent that the reference to the chef’s newness may have had more to do with speed in the kitchen rather than quality of the outcome, but by this time we were well into our second glasses, and had fully deployed our grandparently glows, as we admired a photo of the Pancetta sitting up in the cab of her father’s truck.

Graze is unusual. It bills itself as a cafe by day and a wine bar by night. We decided to try the night time option, but it would be fun to go back for lunch. The menu looks interesting. Which is not something that can really be said about the dining room. There is very little that could be labelled decor, which is fine if the place is full of people but looks a bit underwhelming when there aren’t too many punters as was the case when we arrived. At least inside. Outside on the street the seats were full of young people drinking, smoking and wrapping themselves around those little burgers that everyone insists on calling sliders. The smoke was a bit of a problem because the doors were wide open despite the winter cold, and the smoke wouldn’t stay outside. Again less of a problem if the place had been heaving, with lots of other nostrils to share around all the tobacco-y micro-particles.

The dinner menu is interesting. It ranges from oysters to sliders, and on to octopus and beef cheeks. It even includes an intriguing mention of shaved cauliflower. We simply had to know what this meant, so despite the inherent desirability of combining little hamburgers with slow-cooked lamb, we opted for pork belly and ocean trout, with the shaved cauliflower salad and chips on the side.

The pork belly was excellent, crunchy and soft, with plenty of flavour. The ocean trout was very good too. It came on a bed of toasted, finely sliced olives and almond flakes, which tasted better than it sounds really. Shaved cauliflower turned out to be finely sliced florets, rather than what I was imagining: a full head of cauli, shaved smooth. Unfortunately, the blue cheese tended to overpower everything else in the salad – just too much blueness really. The chips were very good, big, hand cut – crisp outside, creamy inside. Our waitress was young and friendly. Strop decided that she was probably new, and her bubbly-ness a sign of nerves. I just thought she was a student from the performing arts high school across the road. The service was pleasant, but it veered away from restaurant standard and into pub territory when they began clearing empty plates before we had finished eating. At one point the waitress tried to remove a wine glass that Strop hadn’t quite finished with. She nearly lost a finger.

We decided that it would be rude not to look over the dessert menu since the waitress had gone to all the trouble of bringing it over to our table, and our eyes immediately landed on the madeleines with passionfruit curd (really it was just the passionfruit curd, always a favourite). And, seeing as we are in a wine bar, why not have a dessert wine to go with that? Exactly!

The dessert wines arrived well before the madeleines, which was probably just as well because the glasses were very big. Certainly much bigger than I am used to for dessert wine, but we managed to make a fair dent in them before the dessert arrived. The madeleines were disappointing, more stodge than sponge, but the curd was very good, and so was the vanilla bean ice cream.

We enjoyed Graze, despite a few hiccups. It gradually filled up and had nice a buzz to it by the time we left. The wine was good and they are trying to do ambitious things with their food, and that should be encouraged. It is good to see a place trying to do something different and creative on a strip where too many places are happy to just do what all the others doing. Go and see for yourself.

367 Soffritto – Sometimes you just have to ask

July 5, 2014 by Andrew Christie Leave a Comment

It’s just as well Strop booked – this place is packed. Although it might have been wise to get in a bit earlier, I think to myself, as we troop through the front room, past the kitchen and down the side to the out-backiest, out the back table they have. Right next to the toilets. Hmmm, we may need to re-set our expectations about just waltzing up to King Street eateries and getting a table up the front. They obviously do things differently down the south.

Tonight we are joined again by John and Pauline (Thai Pothong, Thanh Binh) who have recently pressed the retire button, sell-house button, and backpack-off-into-the-sunset button (although due to them not being as young as they once were, they are opting for backpacks with wheels). We are, frankly, jealous.

Soffritto is right next door to 3 Olives and is another of the quality eateries that we are enjoying and coming to expect in this part of the quest (which I have just decided to call the elbow of King St – or possibly the knee – I’ll let you know which I settle on). But while 3 Olives is all bright and relaxed, Soffritto is much more sombre and subdued. The front dining area is so dark, that from the street you have to look carefully to see if it is actually open. It feels as if this is a place that takes food seriously. Where we are sitting out the back is brighter, and has radiant heat lamps to keep the winter chill at bay, but unfortunately they only work on one surface at a time. We toy with the idea of periodically changing seats, rotating around the table as a kind of rotisserie but before we can put this plan into effect Pauline has had a quiet word with the staff and they have promised us a table inside as soon as the current occupants finish their coffees. Sometimes you just have to ask. That is a life lesson I am still in the process of learning, my default position being to simmer in a stew of equal parts bitterness and regret.

A little plate of hot battered olives is the first thing to arrive at our table followed by a very pleasant bottle of tempranillo. Hot olives seem to be everywhere nowadays, and this is a good thing, but these are a bit too hot I discover as I help myself to the first one and have to do that thing where you try to hold the hot thing with your teeth so it doesn’t come into contact with your tongue or other soft sensitive parts, and suck air in around it to try to cool it down enough to chew. Everyone else is too busy talking about Morocco, and sharing camels, to notice my distress. They don’t eat their olives until they have had time to cool down a bit. Sensible bastards.

The menu is Italian-ish, not huge but well balanced. There is a five course degustation option and a special for three courses, but we opt for à la carte, and give the entrees a miss. Having overlooked the slow-cooked lamb last week at 3 Olives, I decide on the lamb shoulder with pappardelle, John picks the roast beef with pancetta, and Strop and Pauline opt for the barramundi. Before the mains arrive we are invited to join the chosen ones in the warmth of the main dining room and given some yummy bread and olive oil. The bread is made on the premises, which the waiter points out a couple of times (he seems very proud – maybe he made it himself) and it is crunchy and hits the spot. Despite the full house, conversation is easy. Soffritto is not one of those noisy places that makes me think it must be time to get my hearing tested. The floor staff are good, moving efficiently and quietly through the crowded room.

I thoroughly enjoyed my lamb pappardelle, although it may have had a bit more salt than it needed. The barramundi was excellent, with tomato and just enough chilli, and John’s beef disappeared very quickly. For dessert Strop and I couldn’t go past the steamed marmalade pudding, and John opted for the chocolate pudding. Pauline decided against dessert, but was later observed tucking into quite a bit of John’s chocolate pudding. This sharing may have been a better option for Strop and I, because the marmalade puddings were quite generous and we are not the kind of people to leave any food behind. By the time I’d finished my coffee, I could barely move.

As we made our rotund way home, John and Pauline pressed their cold noses against the glass window of Corelli’s, where their son has just started working. It was a heart-warming scene as young David stuck his head out the door and told his parents to go home and stop stalking him.

Not sure what exactly is coming up next. Whatever it is, it’s bound to be brilliant.