Tuesday

Spencer Guthrie, you will remember of course, is the place we tried to get into on the infamous Tuesday night outing with Uncle Carl when we ended up at Bloodwood instead. And got a bit cheerful.

This time we are staying within the Spencer Guthrie comfort zone. It is Friday night and King Street is buzzing as usual, but the only other people in the restaurant when I arrive (right on time, I’d like to point out), are the four blokes in the up-the-front kitchen. As I was led down the back to our table I realised how small Spencer Guthrie is. You don’t really get a sense of it from the street but there is just a row of two seater tables lining the corridor past the kitchen and a small room out the back with tables for a few larger groups. I was offered a drink while I waited for Strop and Wendy, our self-invited guest for the evening. I decided on a glass of Riesling, as I had already downed a few beers in my slow journey from the station to the restaurant.

I had run out of amusing things to tweet, and was wondering if I should ask for some bread or olives, when I got a text message from Wendy: What number is it? Good question. I had no idea and all the staff were up the front deep in conversation, so I decided to take a walk and stick my head out the door. I’d either see the number or perhaps spot a perplexed looking Wendy and be able to guide her in. Or maybe the staff would ask me if I needed help.

Nope.

No sign of Wendy, but there was the number 399, up high on the window. By the time I got back to the table to send off the coordinates, Wendy appeared at the door. And by the time she had sat herself down, Strop appeared. Then it was time for the drink indecision.

“Cocktails? Wine?”

“What are we eating?”

“Where’s the menu?”

“No, that’s the drinks list.”

“It’s dark in here isn’t it – pass that candle over.”

“I’ve got a torch in the car.”

“Umm…”

“Beer?”

“IPA? What’s that?”

“Do you even drink beer, Wendy?”

“Why yes I do.”

“What’s a Negroni?”

“No idea.”

“What’s that your drinking?”

“The Riesling, it’s good.”

Somewhere in amongst all these questions I ordered some bread and olives, and the menus appeared. The restaurant was filling rapidly by this time and the noise levels were building.

Eventually Strop and Wendy settled on cocktails (Negroni and Champagne) and we got stuck into the bread and olives while we nattered about travels and family and friends. The bread was excellent (baked on site with fennel), but there was something a bit frugal about the three thin slices and the little dish of olives – especially for an appetiser we were paying for.

It wasn’t until the waiter hovered expectantly nearby that we stopped Catching Up and started to seriously consider the menu.

It’s a fixed price arrangement, for either two or three courses: $55 or $65. Within each of the of the courses (a bit cutely named: To Start-To Follow-To Finish) there are four choices. Intriguingly, the menu doesn’t discuss how the dishes are cooked, it just lists the ingredients. In order of quantity presumably. Strop and Wendy weren’t going to put up with this level of blatant ambiguousness though, and immediately began extracting a detailed description of each dish from the waiter. There were a couple of heavily French-accented pauses along the way but he got through the menu in the end, with Strop and Wendy helpfully filling in the gaps where necessary. “He’s nice, isn’t he?” Wendy said when the waiter was safely out of earshot.

Once we knew the choices, we were able to proceed straight to the food indecision phase.

“What are you going to have?” Wendy started.

But I was onto their little game now. “The ocean trout and the beef.”

“Really? That was quick,” Wendy said, disappointed that I had short circuited the game. Eventually she chose the asparagus and the kangaroo, while Strop went for the mussels and the mulloway.

The food was excellent and it looked fantastic served on big white plates with lots of carefully arranged splodges and scatters of the more obscure ingredients from the far end of the descriptions. They’re not big servings but that is not what this place is about. It’s about flavour, and ingredients, and interesting combinations. By the end of the mains I still had plenty of room for dessert, especially as the first one combined chocolate, mandarin and fennel. My choice was made, but Wendy and Strop still had to work their way through the dessert/sharing indecision. Our bottle of Riesling had failed to last the distance so we enquired about a dessert wine. The only one available was a Muscat, “We had a botrytis, but that ran out on Wednesday,” the waiter explained, not exactly apologetically. Luckily the Muscat did the job very nicely.

My dessert didn’t disappoint with a cigar of chocolate mousse and splodges of surprising mandarin and fennel (I think) puree. Wendy and Strop’s dessert came with caramel ice-cream and champagne granita on a bed of what seemed to be coffee muesli. “Mmmm,” said Strop, “Could be a bit more caramelly.”

The place was still crowded as we were leaving at 10pm, and more people were coming in. Spencer Guthrie deserves to be thriving even if it isn’t open on a Tuesday.

I got a message from ‘Uncle’ Carl: In town on tuesday, lets catch up, go for a meal.

Great. I don’t think I’ve seen Carl for about 30 years, which is kind of a lifetime ago.

Great. Tuesday night.

“Where should we go?” asked Strop.

“Somewhere good. He’s come all the way from Brisvegas, we don’t want to inflict anything too borderline on him. What’s up next?”

“Vina.”

“Hmmm… vegetarian,” I said, thinking about the photo we have somewhere of Carl squatting over a backyard firepit-turned-barbecue, wielding a tomahawk. “And after that?”

“Spencer Guthrie.”

Great.

Tuesday night.

On Tuesday morning I checked the website to see if we should book. Closed on Tuesdays. Shit. What’s next? 2042. What kind of name is that? It’s closed anyway. Shit. Let’s just meet up at the Social Club. We’ll have to go to whatever is open. Okay.

When Anna found out that Carl was going to be in town she kind of insisted on coming too. She is another friend from that group-house era whose life has remained entangled in ours over the years, unlike Carl’s.

The Social Club was almost deserted, which allowed Anna, Strop and I to do some actual holiday planning, something we had failed to achieve on our last group outing to Japone Sushi. Carl texted to say that he was running late. Not to worry, we had been early anyway. Another round?

We were busy wondering whether Anna’s newly purchased big suitcase was going to fit in the compact car we were hiring in London, when Carl shouldered his way through the Social Club’s doors. Friendly kisses. Manly hugs. More drinks. While we were catching up (How long since we saw you? Isn’t getting old a bastard. My knees… How many kids? What sexes? Grandchildren! Have you retired yet?) I remember thinking that I should take some notes. And some photos. After a bit more drinking we decided to find some food, and stepped out on to a very quiet King St. The first place we found that was both open and served food was Bloodwood. Now I probably should point out that Bloodwood is probably the best restaurant on King Street. And I should also probably point out that quite a few people were keen to accompany us when we went there, in fact Strop had been entertaining thoughts of a bit of a Do there. But as we stood outside looking up and down the unnaturally quiet street we realised that Tuesday Night left us with very few options. We’d just have to sacrifice our principles and eat some truly yummy food. Oh well.

Inside, Bloodwood was packed and pumping (Please take note Spencer Guthrie). We sat up the front and ordered more drinks while we waited for a free table. And some polenta chips to soak up some alcohol. About this time I remembered the need for notes.

This is what I found when I eventually got around to writing the blog and remembered that I had typed the notes into my phone: Search for the perfect pilsener perfect reisling – Rouse hill Australian brewery – Music specials – Licking the Gorgonzola – Set banquet – Charcuterie – Lentils – Cuttlefish – Duck and sparrow poor mans orange – Duck fat dumplings beef brisket – Funerals – Meta ironic – Bandicute – Sri Lankan love cake – Choke cake

No, I have know idea either – although I blame auto-correct for some of it – surely I would remember eating sparrow.

Here is what I do remember.

Carl’s hobby seems to be a search for the perfect pilsener, his own version of The Quest. That and wearing lycra.

Bloodwood had that very day been awarded an award for Best Drinks List 2015. We certainly drank a very nice Riesling. From Somewhere. And then something red.

The staff at Bloodwood are bloody good(!). We didn’t have time to finish the polenta chips and the very tasty dipping sauce (ok, that explains the gorgonzola note – Strop wouldn’t let them take it away until she had finished all the sauce). We were ushered back past the bar and kitchen to the main dining area out the back. It’s kind of a miracle, they way they extract such great flavours from such a tiny kitchen.

We decided to go with the set menu because it seemed like good value, and by this stage we were getting beyond decision making. And it was a sharing kind of night. The first dish included olives, pickles, and I think possibly my all time favourite food concept: beef jam. I can’t work out exactly how many courses there were but there were enough. You can google it. The dishes were for sharing and had to be divided up. Carl, who works in the hospitality trade, took exception to my inept attempts to serve up something (might have been the duck) and took over wielding the fork and spoon like a pro for all the subsequent dishes. Got out of that easily, I thought.

There were lentils and cuttlefish and dumplings with beef, and I seem to remember loving the Sri Lankan love cake, but look, it was all fantastic. There is a very good reason that Bloodwood is packed on a Tuesday night, and it’s not just that everywhere else is closed.

Unfortunately I never did remember to take some photos.

399 Spencer Guthrie – Worth the wait

416 Bloodwood – An out-of-order blast from the past