RESTAURANT: Porteno

Already a huge fan/advocate (fanvocate?) of Bodega, I was pretty psyched when they opened Porteno, an Argentinean grillhouse/meat temple with a menu that looked pretty much awesome.

It’s the sort of thing that couldn’t go wrong.

But then... it kind of did.

We rocked up around 6.30 midweek to find the place nearly full, which was to be expected. A lot of the people that have given the place a negative review just haven’t understood how a no-bookings place works if it’s popular. PEOPLE TEND TO GO THERE. But, success, there was a table free.

After putting in our order we waited for the food to come. And waited. We got the bread pretty quick and that was fine, with a nice pate to go with. The smoked mackerel with palm hearts and avocado was also fantastic. As was the wine, which came of a wine list that was similarly excellent to that at Bodega.

But then, where was everything else? Were they cooking the 8 hour pork to order?

The wine was diminishing quickly and the water was barely getting ever getting topped up. The table next to us, who got their first dish around the same time as we did, finished their entire meal (with dessert) while we waited. We asked the waitress what was going on and only got “yeah, it’s coming” as a response. Oh, phew, because for a second there I was worried that it wasn’t.

So while we waited for an eternity for the rest of the food, we tried to ignore the fact that we were being ignored and do as most people do: talk. But this too was difficult with the noise in the place. I think it was just where our table was positioned, but fuck me it was hard to talk. It’s noisy at Bodega too, but I don’t really mind. Maybe it’s because it’s a small place (and I usually have food in front of me)? Like, maybe the smallness makes the diner think that they’re in the middle of an intimate party or something stupid like that? But at Porteno, it’s more like being part of a huge migration of cattle?

The food finally came (all at once) (after another group had been seated next to us and received their first course) and it was damn good, as expected. Veal sweetbreads melted in the mouth; the morcilla was packed with flavour, beautifully soft and paired well with roasted capsicum; and the suckling pig was salty, sweet, crunchy and tender all at once. It managed to go nicely with the half of glass of wine I’d rationed off.

I think I ordered the polenta too, but that never arrived. Forgot to check the bill at the end to see if we’d been charged.

Still a little hungry, we went for dessert. The Argentinean pavlova was a nice mix of texture and flavour. The burnt milk custard or whatever it was definitely tasted good, but struck me as the poor-man’s version of the banana split at Bodega. The custard was collapsing slightly, and the pieces of popcorn added the right flavour, but the texture was a bit strange. Still, a top dessert though.


I left, wondering what happened.

That “dining experience” (TM) was heavily influenced by the average service and the ridiculous wait between courses. But what caused it?

I wanted an excuse I could use to forgive everything.

Opening jitters? Not really, it’s been open a while and thousands of people have poured through the door already so they should be with it by now. Maybe that waitress was new, or she just wasn’t getting it?

Maybe the kitchen had an off day? By arrive at 6.30 we would have been among the last tables to put in our orders from the first sitting. Did they hit the wall? Was it just a once off?

Maybe it was only our table that copped all of the noise in the place?


But try as I might, I just couldn’t find an excuse for them. My meal at Porteno was average. The service was either forgettable or in line with a place that seats around 3 million people; the acoustics of the place meant that the noise was too much; the wait between the mackerel and the rest was just ridiculous; and I’m almost certain I ordered the polenta, yet it never arrived.

While the food was undeniably great, I’m hesitant to go back. Maybe I’ll go back again, once, if only to try the lamb. But if the service is average and there’s another huge wait for the food then I don’t see any point in returning. And I think the pretty young things in their “dresses” and “shoes” will agree with me. Right now it’s buzzing on hype, but that only lasts for so long. Surely it can't always be like this? I want this place to be so good. So much.


RATING: Pending.

RECIPE: Polenta with parmigiano reggiano and olive oil

Good flavours; Simplicity; Comfort.



Make the polenta as per the packet directions.
Towards the end stir in a knob of good butter and handful or so (depends how much you make) of grated parmigiano reggiano.

Serve with some shavings of parmigiano reggiano, a bit of freshly ground black pepper and a generous drizzle of olive oil.

RECIPE: Better Than Spain: Chocolate ice cream, dark chocolate smear, fried brioche, olive oil, coffee and sugar roasted peanuts

Inspired first by the BTS dessert at Sydney restaurant House. And secondly by the traditional Spanish dessert of chocolate on bread with olive oil.



Dark chocolate smear:
Over a double-boiler, melt 100g of the highest percentage cocoa chocolate you can find. I used 85%.
Add a heaped tablespoon of thickened cream.
Stir through and cool. Refrigerate.
Take it out of the fridge well before serving so it liquefies.

Cut some brioche in to chunks and pan fry over a low-medium heat with a stack of butter. Try to avoid getting too much colour (the above picture shows what to avoid).

Roughly ground some peanuts with some coffee beans and some brown sugar. Roast in an oven until the nuts are cooked.
Once cool, ground further.

Either make your own chocolate ice cream (look for a recipe online) or buy some.

To assemble, smear some of the dark chocolate on a plate. Scatter some brioche. Add a generous scoop of the ice cream. Spoon over a teaspoon of the peanut mix. Drizzle over some good olive oil.


Serve it with a good imperial Russian stout or some pedro ximenez.

RECIPE: Cider braised pork shoulder, pan juice reduction, peanut smear

Apple and pork. A classic combination that I never tire of.

Especially when faced with a roasted shoulder, crackling reaching towards the sky, reaching for my bra strap (I have serious manboobs).



FUCK APPLES INTO THE HOLE!



Preheat the oven as high as Wu-Tang Gets it goes. For my gas powered oven, it is MYSTERY SETTING!
Patdry the skin of the pork. Score it if your butcher hasn't. Rub salt into the wound.
Rub the rest of the best in salt, pepper, fennel, olive oil, mustard seeds.
Submerge the beast (leaving the skin unsubmerged, pointing up) in a mix of 75% apple cider (alcoholic, French type), 25% vegetable stock.
Put it in the searing oven until the cracking is sufficient.
Drop the temp to around 120c, cover with foil, leave for around 12 hours (check after 9/10) until the bone slides out easy.
I like to jack the oven right up at the end to invigorate the crackling.

Drain the fat from the juices and pour them into a saucepan.
Reduce over a high heat until gravy consistency. Cheat with some cornstarch if you like.

For the peanut smear, grind up 3 tablespoons of peanuts until they're dust. Add a generous pinch of salt and a pinch of brown sugar.
Into a saucepan with 2 cups of apple cider (as above).
Reduce until it's a thick syrup.

On the side, maybe baked apple and potato. Maybe some cabbage braised in cider. Your choice. But it's all secondary to the pork.

Google Fail

Um.... No?

RECIPE: Oyster Tartare with Pancetta, Potato and Mango

Oysters. Chopped.
Pancetta and Potato. Diced. Fried over a low heat (the pancetta should go soft, not crisp).
Mango. Fine dice.

Layer it so the sea is on the bottom (oyster), then the ground (pancetta and potato), then the tree (mango).


Serve in something which encourages the eater to get a bit of everything on the spoon at once. Salty/sweet is one contrast. But the unctuousness of the fat and the oyster being cut by the mango is another. The potato is really just to bulk the dish out.


Serving suggestion is the Chandon ZD. Ultra crisp sparkling wine that doesn't influence the very clear flavours of the dish. A clean Blanc de Blanc would also work, but anything else could distort the taste.

ARTICLE: On The Transformational Properties of Eating Food in Europe

After eating my way across some of Europe’s most culinary countries, I began to reflect on my time spent at tables. Had anything actually changed? Or had I just spent a lot of time and money to just eat more food; food that I pretty much could get back home? The answer was, most definitely, things changed.

It was actually subtle things which changed. But they were subtle things which can add up and completely change a dining experience.

MY CHANGES - LET ME LIST THEM FOR YOU

The birth of the aperitif/aperitivo. To be honest, I previously used ‘aperitif’ as a wanky term to describe a style of drink. But in Italy and France I was completely won over by the aperitif. Maybe it was because I was relaxed and I was on holiday (and I didn’t have much of a budget), but I hit the aperitifs. I hit them hard. A cool glass of champagne and something to nibble on is an absolutely spectacular way to start a meal (or prepare for an impending one) when you’re sitting down for a leisurely eating session. If you’re in a rush, obviously there is little point (apart from the normal thrill of champagne).

Oddly, the changing perception of the aperitif also totally changed my perception of .est, one of only three Sydney restaurants to hold three hats in the Good Food Guide (along with Quay and Marque). When I visited it, I really disliked it. One of the main reasons for the dislike was the champagne cart offering when you arrived. Get fucked, I don’t want you to rape me with a glass of Krug. Europe told me that, yes, I do want to be fucked by your glass of Krug. I’m in a good restaurant, why not go nuts. If I’m paying $300 for a dinner with wine, then what’s another $30? I should be treating it as a special occasion, not a regular dinner. That said, the food still isn’t that great for that level of fine dining.

Cheese. Cheese how I loved thee. And how I love thee. Still, with a love of cheese already, Europe totally transformed my view of cheese and, more specifically, the cheese course. What could be better than a few perfectly ripened pieces of cheese before dessert? Nothing, really (ed: plenty of things). But the cheese in Europe was actually ripe. It was incredible. Utter perfection. If only everyone in Sydney wanted a cheese course, then restaurants would actually be able to perfectly ripen cheese. At the moment, I think it has to be impossible to serve perfectly ripe cheese and make money from it, with so few people actually opting for a cheese course. But they fucking well should. A good glass of red and a selection of cheeses at their absolute peak is a thing of beauty. And Australia makes good damn cheese, so let’s do this shit. Australians: get the cheese course.

Mushrooms. I used to hate mushrooms as a child. In the last few years I tried more and I realised that I wasn’t sure. Before hitting Europe I realised that I only hated badly cooked mushrooms. After hitting Europe—in the middle of mushroom season—I realised that I LOVED mushrooms. They are now my wife and husband. A perfectly cooked mushroom is a thing of utter beauty. Like the refreshing sweetness of a watermelon tastes like summer, a dish of well-cooked mushrooms tastes like Autumn. I want more.

Sparkling water. This got me bad. So freakin’ bad. Because of their hideous tap water, it appeared that the Europeans didn’t drink a lot of the stuff at restaurants. In fact, it was so horrible I struggled to drink it anywhere. It became one of the first words I’d memorise when we entered a new country. Yes, no, please, thank you, sparkling water. The bare essentials. Arriving home, I got the horn for it. The itch. I can’t get enough of it. San Pellegrino was the best, but I can take nearly anything just to satisfy the craving. Before coming home I realised that I was addicted. But I was worried. I spent a good 30 minutes in the hotel room in (I think) Zaragoza, researching if there were any negative health impacts of drinking sparkling water. I couldn’t find any, so when I got home I hit up Norton St Grocers for a shitload of the stuff. Since then, it hasn’t left the fridge (or cooler—backup).

Sadness over produce. This made me feel pretty bad, really. The cheeses over there are in another world to here. The retailers actually know how to mature a cheese. Even the cheap supermarket cheeses could compare with the best things we have here. Salumi/cured meats? Forget about it. Italy was a mindfuck of great salumi. Good lardo. Where is that around here? The fruit in Italy and France? Wow! Ripe, seasonal and packed with flavour. And you can actually get decent stuff in a normal supermarket. Incredible.


So, yes, things have changed. Not only have my dining habits changed, but my attitudes towards produce have changed (that sounds so damn wanky) as a result of this trip. It was edutainment at it’s finest!

RECIPE: Appetiser/Palate Cleanser. Melon Gazpacho, Crispy Jamon, Cream

Melon Gazpacho:
Watermelon
Rockmelon
Honeydew
Mint
Parsley
Stale bread (no crusts)
Salt and Pepper
Olive Oil
Ice (lots)

Blend


Cream:
Sour Cream
Add a little water
A little olive oil
Salt and Pepper

Mix


Crispy Jamon:
Slices of jamon/prosciutto

Bake on a medium heat in the oven until dry and crisp. Crumble.


Combine.

RECIPE: Appetiser. The Foie Gras Croissant

Sheeeeet.

Chunks of croissant.
Chunks of pan-fried foie gras.
Muscat jelly to reduce the buttery/livery sweetness.
Chervil for a little freshness.

RECIPE: Appetiser. Orange and Sardine Toasts

Sliced baguette, rubbed with olive oil, salt and pepper and grilled
2 orange segments
1 half of a marinated sardine fillet
A few pieces of finely shaved fennel
Garnished with some fennel fronds

The important thing is to nail to orange to sardine ratio. Test it first. Your oranges/sardines may be (will be) different to mine.

RECIPE: Appetiser. Buffalo Mozzarella

On tomato-rubbed bread.
With basil.
Seasoned.
Olive oil.

RECIPE: Pietro Ximenez's Suitcase

This cocktail was inspired by my recent trip around Europe.

The journey started in Rome, where I was given a bottle of delicious, aged grappa for my birthday. Because grappa is such a strong drink and because I wasn't doing a lot of drinking in the hotel room, I found myself carting this with me as we went from city to city. In Barcelona, we purchased a really nice bottle of pedro ximenez which, again, didn't get finished and joined the convoy.

In Zaragoza I was getting tired of having a liquor cabinet slowly growing in my luggage. So I got to drinking. One idea was to mix the pedro ximenez with the grappa to both cut the sweetness of the pedro xim with the aniseedy flavour of the grappa, and to cut the strength and burn of the grappa. It was nice enough (and, more importantly, got rid of the booze on hand) but I knew it had more potential.



Ingedients:
- 2 parts iced tea (I made this myself because you don't want it sweet)
- 1 part grappa
- 1 part pedro ximenez
- 1 thick piece of orange zest (squeeze it a little before adding it)
- Tiny splash of brandy

Mix it over a shitload of ice in a lowball, stir, charge with a little sparkling water.

A damn fine drink to sip on. Sweet, viscous, refreshing.

Blogging and Microblogging United

Hi blog fans (ed: there are none, I checked the stats),

I got the Twitter (might want to get yourself tested). Follow me around if you want to get updates on my blog posts, other food related things, rap with swearing in it and/or hate towards macarons.

I've had it for a week or so, which is around 60 years in internet life, so I'm pretty sure it'll be here forever.

http://twitter.com/theortolansmeal

Or don't. I don't really care. I'm pretty self absorbed.

ARTICLE: The Future/Death of Food Writing; A hastily written piece of rant-trash

For anyone that actually follows this blog with any interest (ed: there is no one, I checked the stats) you may have noticed an increased focus on the blog in the last couple of months. See... I care. I care about food. And I like to write. Which means that I can about food writing. So I do it. Right?

But I don’t do things by half measures. When I do something, I want to do it well. So I was sitting around, thinking on how to approach food writing—how to do it brilliantly. What I came to realise is that food writing is pretty much doomed.

People have changed since newspapers started adding food reviews to their papers. Social media has completely changed the face of non-news media. If we want to find out about a new restaurant or bar that opened recently, do we wait for a publication to publish a review? Hell naw. We hit up blogs, Twitter, Google, whatever. We have a veritable dossier of information on every new place that opens before even having taking a bite or a sip.

And this media doesn’t just have the tired old 500 word column. No. It has hi definition photos taken on a 10 megapixel digital SLR camera. And, fuck it, I’m viewing it on a 20 inch LCD screen over a band that can only be described as BROAD.

All within the first week of a new place opening, if it’s in the right location (or reaches out to enough people willing to give it a write-up).

How does traditional food writing survive? Through bloody good food writing? Get the Pulizter ready. Maybe not. (hold the Pulitzer)

Because blogging appears to have killed the linguistic star. Such is the proliferation of food writing (namely restaurant reviews) that entire phrases can be killed in a week. How many times have we heard phrases like “meltingly tender” or “sinfully rich”? Back in the days of print media we could at least wait a week before the next restaurant review appeared and the reviewer pulled out their tired old formula. But now...

Now, in the age of instant gratification, you can sign up to so many avenues of social media that you can get a dozen people describing the very same dish in the space of just a week. How many ways are there to describe the same thing? The accountants inside us say that there is only one way to describe something: the right way. The artist inside us says that there are many ways to describe it. The public ready the description of the item says that there is but a few ways of describing something in a way that keeps them coming back.

A post happened on the internet a few days ago, on The Food Blog. The question was asked: how would you describe a steak?

The answer from every proper, published, food writer? The same way as each other.

The answer from nearly every food blogger? The same way as the food writer, but not as good, but with more pictures so it’s cool, right?

Proper food writers, when they’re really firing, are poetic. They’re moving. They DRIVE you to the food with language so evocative you can almost taste it. But that’s only when they’re firing. And how evocative can you be when language is set in stone? There are only so many terms and phrases that can be used. So the question remains: how do you describe a steak, having to be poetic, moving, descriptive and critical, yet moving?

But proper food writers... they’re following a formula, aren’t they? The Modern Day Food Writing Formula (TM) of beginning with a non-restaurant related phrase (I had to do a review, but my cat was asking for food), writing your review about the food, throwing in some facts, ending with a callback to the non-restaurant related phrase (this place left me purring for more). It’s just as predictable as the blog next door that posts photos of every course and describes every course as good.

Hypothetical. You—a proper food writer—describe it well. You describe a steak so perfectly (and originally) that people can identify with it and, most importantly, they can identify with it. They can taste it. They feel the heady combination of oil and fat and blood run down the side of their mouth reading your review. Something deep inside them aches to bring that feeling to reality by actually visiting that place.

Food bloggers read your review. They love it. They process the way you wrote that review. Elements of it permeate that horrible beast known to some as the “Blogosphere”.

When was the last time you heard the phrase "gossimer-thin" in real life? Never. When was the last time you saw it in a restaurant review? Last week? A proper writer used that term once. Then it proliferated.

Your description has lost all punch. Over time it’s lost all meaning, as the phrase is pulled in hundreds of directions. And the food bloggers aren’t doing too well either. Their readers are getting a sort of phrase fatigue from reading the same descriptor over and over; from a myriad of sources. But the pictures keep them happy.

But can pictures keep people happy for long enough?

Every blog is in competition with the other. The internet is not aware of the term “brand loyalty”. If you slip up for long enough, you lose your readership. At the moment they like you because you review a lot of places, you make stuff they want to make and (most importantly) you take a lot of pictures (3D, right?). But you slack off and you’re gone.

So where does food writing go? Good writers struggle to win because they aren’t writing as frequently as bloggers. Bloggers can’t win because they’re nothing but vessels for pictures and information. And they’re just as susceptible to “cliché fatigue” as a published food author.


Or maybe it doesn’t matter.

Writers write for the masses—for mass adulation. Our culture of instant gratification has told us to seek that. And maybe writing at a tolerable level and having lots of pictures is enough for that.

But with food writing gaining an increasing presence amongst “traditional” writing can we settle for that? Sure, the cream will rise to the top, but should we settle for cream rising above mediocrity?

So maybe it does matter.

But the challenge now, as I see it, is for someone to capture the future of food writing. That person will have the ability of being able to review places en masse without growing stale. Most importantly, they’ll be able to describe a great steak in a way that won’t bore us.

The challenge is to use the current media landscape to tap into the zeitgeist of people reading about food and deliver both a truly exceptional media experience, and truly exceptional writing. About that topic which so many of us love: food.

RESTAURANT: District Dining

There are too many new restaurants opening up in Sydney.

Seriously, it's ridiculous. Can't these people foresee the trouble they're in? How is anyone going to become a regular at your restaurant when there are approximately 62 new restaurants opened every day (Surry Hills figures only at this stage--waiting for more info from the Aus Bureau of Statistics)?

I've watched them, and the reaction is either laughter (you are so destined to go out of business it is not funny--but it is) or nervousness (I don't want you to fail, but there is a lot working against you, dude. District Dining falls into the latter category.

It's run by Warren Turnbull, you see. The same guy that does great work over at Assiette. But instead of fine dining, it's more of an upmarket bistro, with the focus on various meats and various offcuts.

Sounds good right? Right!

Looking at the menu, I want it all. I reckon I could probably eat it all before dying, too. If I eat fast enough.

We kick things off with the charcuterie plate and it's good, but the memory of Italian meat is still too fresh in my mind to say it's anything more than good.

They charge for bread here, which is odd, particularly because the charcuterie doesn't come with bread for free.

Next up the quail with chutney, brioche and pomegranate. Great dish. The quail is perfectly cooked. It reminds me of the other quails I've eaten, that are now poorly cooked in comparison. The rest of the ingredients only add more levels of excellent to the dish.

I ordered the lamb shoulder with cumin/honey/baby carrots because it's a bit of a yardstick. I've had some good lamb shoulders and if I'm being arrogant I can make a good lamb shoulder. A mean one, even. Turns out... Warren Turnbull makes a pretty good one too. Heavy on the fat, so, coupled with the honey, it's an oddly sweet dish. But nice.

Pork belly with kim chee? Very good. Smoked eel pate? Very good. Wine list? Good, if a bit pricey.

For an upmarket pub bistro, District Dining is nearly impossible to fault. I'll be back, because there is still so much goodness in that menu still to be found (pork head!).


RATING: Will return to [?]

RESTAURANT: Charlie & Co Burgers (Charlie & Co 2: Charlie & Co Harder)

After the teething problems of the opening day last week, I was keen to head back to Westfield Sydney and back to, more specifically, Justin North's Charlie & Co Burgers.

Just to be safe, I waited for a day where I had enough time to spend 45 minutes waiting for a burger during my lunchbreak. Ironically, that day was the day I went to Charlie & Co Burgers again.

I arrived just after 12 and there was already a queue about 10 deep with people. Looks like this place is catching on.

But the line moved pretty quickly, and within a few minutes I was sitting with one of those buzzer things, waiting for my federation burger with onion rings (oh, hi, healthy food pyramid).

Expecting to wait for around half an hour, I was caught of guard when it started buzzing after only 10-15 minutes. Success!

I got my items and consumed.

The federation burger, packed with eggs and bacon and Australian things was good. Not as good as the glorious wagyu burger, but still a good burger. It was made a little sweeter when I discovered how to eat these burgers without having to either break your jaw to get your mouth around or biting off corners and wearing the burger on your face: just eat it upsidedown.

The onion rings were also pretty ace. Lightly crumbled on the outside, soft onion on the inside, rock salt swimming around. My body didn't care for the saturated fat associated with an entire box of the things, but my tastebuds enjoyed them thoroughly.

So what's the verdict?

Well, they've done it. If the wait is kept down to these sort of levels then this is a fantastic burger eating destination if you don't mind spending 10-16$ on a burger or toasted sandwich. We need little indulgences in life every now and then, so I've already made plans to go again next week.

RATING: Will return to [?]

The Michelin-stargasm: A Wrap-Up

So I accumulated 37 Michelin stars in 35 days, covering a range of restaurants and countries in the process.

Now that it has concluded, it's time to compose the thoughts; compare and contrast; reflect. This... is the Michelin star wrap-up (in chronological order).

il Convivio. Rome. 1 star. One of the worst Michelin-starred meals of the trip, if not the worst. While the restaurant is lovely and the service good, the food was lacking for me. Nearly every dish had a flaw.

Cracco. Milan. 2 stars. Spectacular meal. In the top 5 of the trip, but only just. Excellent food and service, but lacking just a little something to make it as enjoy as the best of the trip.

Trussardi alla Scala. Milan. 2 stars. Kick-arse cooking. While it wasn't as intricate as some places, or as experimental as others, it made up for it by just tasting brilliantly. Coupled with good service, comfortable seats and an excellent vibe. I'd rate this around 5th or 6th of the trip.

Paul Bocuse. Lyon. 3 stars. Stars given for respect, not for anything else. Everything was dated. Sure, the food was good (great even), but it was from another era/decade/century/time. Go there if you want to worship Bocuse, not if you want to have a meal on par with the best in the world.

l'Assiette Champenoise. Reims/Tinqueux. 2 stars. Dessert destruction. Some very, very solid food in an excellent looking restaurant. Truly devestating quantity of food (my fault). Out of the top 5, but not by much.

Le Pressoir d'Argent. Bordeaux. 1 star. Some of the worst service of the trip, coupled with excellent food. Unfortunately, excellent food that isn't good enough to make up for the service. But I think we got them on an off night so I don't want to give an overly negative impression of the place, because with good service it could be a great place.

Senderens. Paris. 2 stars. All very solid, but not as good as the top places in either food, experience or service. I'd like to return again to eat more dishes before making up my mind on this place.

Le Celadon. Paris. 1 star. An excellent weekend lunch menu. Extraordinary value for the food on offer.

l'Atelier de Joel Robuchon. Paris. 2 stars. The second best meal of the trip behind Guy Savoy. The experience of eating at the counter was such a welcomed break from everywhere else and the food was great (the marrow on toast: Jesus died for that). Although this place got help because we went so nuts and gorged like crazy.

Le Cinq. Paris. 2 stars. I wasn't expecting the food to be that great but it was actually quite good. Coupled with a stunning dining room and some of the best service of the trip, this was a good one.

Guy Savoy. Paris. 3 stars. Without a doubt the best purely fine dining experience I have ever had. Breathtaking food, utterly flawless service and, incredibly, buckloads of fun! Also incredibly expensive ($800AUD). Was it worth it? Yes, yes, yes.

Taillevent. Paris. 2 stars. One of the big disappointments of the trip. A legendary place in terms of history, but the food did nothing. The service was also only average.

Michel Rostang. Paris. 2 stars. While I didn't get the truffle sandwich I'd heard so much about, I did get a fantastic meal. That quenelle in seafood sauce was stunning. Everything else was also excellent. Some of the best "pure" cooking of the trip, with none of that new-world/molecular stuff getting in the way. I'd love to go back and try more.

Lasserre. Paris. 2 stars. Come for the excellent food, but stay for the ambiance. When that roof opens the place feels magical.

Lasarte. Barcelona. 2 stars. I really wanted to try more of this place. While there were a few minor flaws, the food was original and fantastic. That pig trotter dish was a killer.

Cinc Sentis. Barcelona. 1 star. Good food, good flavour combinations, good techniques and good value. Everything about this place was solid.

Comcerc 24. Barcelona. 1 star. It tried a little too hard for no reason. Some dishes were average, some dishes were killers. But in the end it was a good dining experience. If it relaxed it could be even better.

La Terrazza del Casino Madrid. Madrid. 2 stars. One of the top 5 meals of the trip. Great experimental food (Ferran Adria consulted on it) alongside a good wine list and top service.

Ramon Freixa. Madrid. 1 star. A tremendous quantity of good food. It kept coming and I kept eating. The best of the 1-starred places I ate at.

La Broche. Madrid. 1 star. A huge amount of dishes (again), but not all of them good this time. It tried hard, but the execution was missing in parts. Still, there were some good parts.

Restaurant Tavares. Lisbon. 1 star. So much gold and mirror in a dining room. So much. Good food. It didn't blow me away but it kept me happy enough the whole time.

Lion d'Or. Geneva. 1 star. Breathtaking, panoramic view of Lake Geneva, even if it was slightly overcast. Coupled with good food, service and wine and you have an enjoyable meal.


So what was my best Michelin-starred meal? Guy Savoy.

What was my worst? il Convivio.

What's my opinion of the Michelin star rankings? Like any restaurant rating system, it isn't perfect, there are restaurants that could go up or down one. But the main problem with the Michelin rankings is the stars given to restaurants purely because they used to be good. Food is all about now, not decades ago. Tastes change and restaurants need to keep up to date with them.

This Isn't Tetsuya's 2: Spring

Spring is such a great season to cook in. As the days progress (and the number of layers of clothing reduce) the landscape of seasonal food shifts so dramatically from the root vegetables and hardy fruits towards the tropical bonanza that is sitting around the corner in summer. If you time it right you can ride these two opposing seasons and create some incredible dishes that use the best of both late winter and early summer produce, with some of the foods that thrive in the temperate spring weather for good measure.

For me, spring is also about moving away from those hearty winter stews towards light summer dishes. I always try to straddle those opposing forces and create lighter food that still keeps some of that comfort left over from winter. How much comfort is entirely dictated by the day.

And so for this season's This Isn't Tetsuya's dinner I'm trying to capture that conflict between winter and summer and make dishes that could be enjoyed in either season, but also in neither season. I've also incorporated a lot of my recent European travels in the food, with every dish being influenced by something consumed or experienced in one of the greatest culinary regions of the world.





Will it come together? What changes will I find myself making at the last minute? Will the guests enjoy it?

Keep reading to see an experimental dinner party come together.



Notes from the first round of testing, experimenting and questioning:
- The cocktail is perfect in terms of ingredients, just need to work on quantities. At the moment it looks like the balance is equal parts grappa, pedro xim and iced tea; plus a splash of brandy and a big slice of orange zest. All over ice.
- What tea do I want to use?
- The perfect ratio of sardines to orange is 2 orange segments to 1 fillet of sardine (1 side). Top with thinly sliced fennel, olive oil, a few drops of red wine vinegar (not too much) and a pinch of salt flakes. All on top of a toasted baguette.
- The starters need to be one-bite-sized. Bite-sized is more enjoyable. Two bites or more creates the awkwardness of eating with your hands.
- The pancetta for the carbonara needs to be watched. Don't let it crisp or fry. Cook it on a low heat until the fat softens and becomes edible.
- The mix of cheese for the carbonara: equal parts reggiano, pecorino and triple cream. 3 eggs. Need to test this. The triple cream cheese is adding luxury and cream but not the flavour I want. The pecorino might bring this out.
- It works with the pickle flavour, which cuts the richness. You can have your cake and eat it too.
- Given the inability of my freezer to make ice cream, what do I do for the dessert? Bought ice cream, homemade chocolate mousse or homemade chocolate ganache? Would a mixed mousse or ganache of dark chocolate and milk chocolate add to the dish?

Charlie & Co. Burgers

So Westfield Sydney opened today. I didn't know it was going to open today, and quite frankly I didn't care. That was, of course, until someone behind me started yelling while I was waiting to cross the road on the way to lunch.

"Justin North," he said. Getting my attention. Oh yes, I am aware of that man. Than man of Becasse/Etch/Plan B/etc fame.

"Wagyu burgers," he continued. Yes, I am aware of those creatures.

"At Charlie & Co." Wait. What? What the fuck is a Charlie & Co?

"Open today."

Come on, man. Out with it. Where?

"Westfield Sydney, Level 5."

I spun around and saw an old man dressed in old fashioned newsboy attire. In his hand was leaflets. Leaflets that would lead me to a wagyu burger. Nearby.

The little man in the light went green.

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, MAN, GIVE ME A FLYER. NOW! THE LITTLE MAN IS GREEN. CAN YOU NOT SEE THIS?

I snatched a flyer from his hand and walked as fast as I could to Pitt St. It was only 12 and I felt confident of beating the rush to getting a succulent burger. I've had Justin North's wagyu burger before and, oh, how I enjoyed it.

I found the store and noticed no queue to order and only a small queue picking up food. Yes, today would be my day. I placed my order and drooled.

Flash forward 45 minutes and I'm still 10 tickets away from getting my wagyu burger ($16) with fries ($6 for normal, $7 for herb, $8 for parmesan and truffle). The kitchen is so far behind that the staff have stopped taking orders.

Shit has hit the fan.

Problems have teethed.

In 45 minutes, I've counted only 10 people getting their takeaway order (you can "dine in" or takeaway).

I get my burger and it's exceptional, as expected. The bun looks tremendous, the patty thick and inviting, the beetroot relish striking the perfect sweet/sour balance.

The chips are just as good. Pillowy inside, ultra crisp on the outside. Tossed in a little parmesan cheese and truffle oil for flavour.

Can any burger be worth a wait of over 45 minutes? I doubt it. In the time I ate this I could have almost gone to Becasse, had lunch and come back. But I'm willing to put all of this down to teething problems.

BUT PLEASE NO ONE ELSE EVER GO THERE. Because if they get the wait below 10 minutes then this has to be THE ULTIMATE quick/luxurious lunch destination in the middle of the city.


More info here: http://www.charlieandco.com.au/

Vesper

After breakfast in a castle in Porto (some pretzels, really) and lunch in Geneva, we're in Amsterdam, eating some sort of unidentifiable fritter... thing. It's not bad considering how dodgy everything looks around here.

Not that we're after a gourmet experience. We're just lining our stomachs before heading to our next stop: Vesper, a cocktail bar that has gotten a lot of buzz for serving up top notch cocktails in a cool, relaxed setting.

We get there and it's almost surprising to see that it is indeed cool and relaxed. I'd been getting used to hugely deceptive online reviews from ignorant Americans.

The barman tells us that it's last call, which is disappointing, but less disappointing than being told to go away.

With only one drink I want it to be a good one. I ask him what he would recommend. He extracts from me that I want something rum based and I find myself drinking a rum manhattan or something like that. Two types of rum, some red vermouth, a few drops of something secret and a twist of orange zest and it's there. It's awesome. Really, really awesome.

It's a quiet night so he chats with us about where we've been, what we do, Amsterdam, things like that. Risking the friendship, the drinking companion asks if we could possibly, maybe, have one more drink. He says okay and life is good.

This time something gin based is what we're after and he recommends the Vesper martini. It's freakin' good. A perfect balance of flavours. He tells us the history of the drink and it's origins in James Bond.

We drink that and talk more about things like the economy, super-yachts, smoking laws.



It’s so good that we decide to come back the next night.

We decide to go for the luxury cocktails, since you only live once. The Goldfinger—Remy Martin XO, Billecart-Salmon Brut NV and gold leaf—is good (and just under 40 euros), but it’s the old-fashioned that is the real winner.

We also have to have the Zombie, which is normally a godawful rendition of a tiki drink packed with so much terrible rum that you get sick more from the taste than the 4 types of rum that the recipe calls for.

But here, it’s excellent. Good rum helps, but so do the small touches that are added in like fresh passionfruit and a little (I think) cayenne pepper. It’s so strong that they make you sign a contract saying that you’ll only have two of them. Which is cruel, because it’s tremendously addictive.

And even though our friend from the night before isn’t behind the bar this night, the rest of the staff are still very much cut from the friendly/cool/unpretentious mould.

An excellent place to visit if you like cocktails in a cool/relaxed setting.


Things that Sydney needs #42098: This.