Friday 31 May 2013
Wednesday 18 May 2011
Don't do it Martha
Hospital food. I've had four days to assess the quality of what's on the plate at Osborne Park and, sisters, frankly it doesn't rock. Brekkies are uncooked, which is probably just as well. It doesn't matter what boxes I tick, I always get cornflakes. It's hard to bugger up cereal, so that's okay. But I do wish they'd toast the bread, which flops on the plate all flaccid and unbecoming. Lunch is sandwiches and they're fine. Dinner is interesting. Usually there are brussels sprouts, plus an innocuous gravy element. One day it was roast lamb, another a pastry-covered meatloaf. The mash is okay. The tea is dreadful. The staff are lovely. Morning and afternoon teas are pretty good because you either get some Arnotts crackers with Kraft cheese in a blister pack or a home-madeish cake. We had muffins yesterday. Whoopee. When I get out I'm going to cook a rare sirloin steak all smothered in garlic and black pepper, washed down with a big, thin-rimmed glass of something burgundian. Bring it on.
Thursday 28 April 2011
Favourite Things
Favourite Things
Copyright Doris 2011, with apologies to Rodgers & Hammerstein
Roast garlic mash with a glass of Rioja
Shoestring potatoes or veal saltimbocca
Snapper with snowpeas, sashimi with soy,
These are the dishes that fill me with joy.
Olive foccacia and gammon with mustard
Chicken Marengo, bananas with custard
Waffles, Kartoffels and anything sweet
These are the dishes that I want to eat
When the wine’s warm,
When the bread’s stale,
When the bill’s mucked up
I simply remember my favourite meal
And then it’s not so..........much of a problem.
Raspberry coulis and rich chocolate mousses
Milkshakes and lassis and freshly-squeezed juices
Coffee gelato with tiramisu
These are the dishes that I want to chew
When the wine’s warm,
When the bread’s stale,
When the staff are new
I simply remember my favourite meal
And then I don’t want to......do something involving involuntary reflexes.
Parmesan, Camembert, fresh mascarpone
Strasburg and brattwurst, proscuitto, polony
Coq au vin, croque monsieur, coquille St Jacques
These are what I want when I want a snack
Warm tapioca and cold apple strudels
Sago and pasta, polenta and noodles
Couscous and burghul, potatoes and rice
These are the carbs I think are kinda nice
When the wine’s warm,
When the bread’s stale,
When the bill’s mucked up
I simply remember my favourite meal
And then it’s not so..........much of a problem.
Copyright Doris 2011, with apologies to Rodgers & Hammerstein
Roast garlic mash with a glass of Rioja
Shoestring potatoes or veal saltimbocca
Snapper with snowpeas, sashimi with soy,
These are the dishes that fill me with joy.
Olive foccacia and gammon with mustard
Chicken Marengo, bananas with custard
Waffles, Kartoffels and anything sweet
These are the dishes that I want to eat
When the wine’s warm,
When the bread’s stale,
When the bill’s mucked up
I simply remember my favourite meal
And then it’s not so..........much of a problem.
Raspberry coulis and rich chocolate mousses
Milkshakes and lassis and freshly-squeezed juices
Coffee gelato with tiramisu
These are the dishes that I want to chew
When the wine’s warm,
When the bread’s stale,
When the staff are new
I simply remember my favourite meal
And then I don’t want to......do something involving involuntary reflexes.
Parmesan, Camembert, fresh mascarpone
Strasburg and brattwurst, proscuitto, polony
Coq au vin, croque monsieur, coquille St Jacques
These are what I want when I want a snack
Warm tapioca and cold apple strudels
Sago and pasta, polenta and noodles
Couscous and burghul, potatoes and rice
These are the carbs I think are kinda nice
When the wine’s warm,
When the bread’s stale,
When the bill’s mucked up
I simply remember my favourite meal
And then it’s not so..........much of a problem.
Tuesday 26 April 2011
Andaluz
I didn’t really mean to go back to Andaluz so soon.
Letitia Sprout and I paid a visit when the place first opened a year ago and, as I reported back then, young chef Brenton Pyke’s food was very good indeed.
I’d discovered Pyke cooking at a wine bar in Como. I can’t remember why I first went there but I do remember a single just-warm Coffin Bay oyster, a shot glass of silken sweetcorn veloute, crisp, creamy Blue Swimmer crab and fennel croquettes.
Having eaten Pyke’s careful, generous, perfectly balanced fare, I swore to follow him around for the rest of my life.
When he resurfaced at Andaluz, I was there in a flash.
It wasn’t just that the guy could cook. It was his consistency and attention to detail, plus something less definable. A love of his craft perhaps, or an innate modesty that allowed his food to do the shining.
My recent return visit proved what I always hoped would be the case.
The city’s best food is to be found not at some fine diner charging megabucks but in this dimly-lit burrow of a late night bar tucked away within the city’s corporate hub.
If it’s intimacy you’re after, grab your head torch and seek out one of the leather Chesterfields that nestle deep within the bar’s vault-like confines.
There, surrounded by too-dim lighting and swirly lampshades, one gets to eat food that makes you smile on the inside.
For Pyke has spent the last year wisely, refining and condensing his menu until every little thing he does is magic.
Own-made chicken and pork sausage is love on a plate. Fat, juicy, gamey and full-flavoured, it sits on a hearty braise of small green lentils finished with a hint of cream.
A duo of just-set scallops sits atop a peppery confit of pork cheek, in turn amid a swirl of PX reduction.
Desserts are by way of a tasting plate, perhaps featuring a superb lemon tart with candied orange and a slick of buttery lemon curd, or a fat, oozing chocolate fondant cake topped with clotted cream.
The booze list is at least as good as the food. Staff offer a winning blend of accomplished friendliness and accommodating happiness. Go soon.
Letitia Sprout and I paid a visit when the place first opened a year ago and, as I reported back then, young chef Brenton Pyke’s food was very good indeed.
I’d discovered Pyke cooking at a wine bar in Como. I can’t remember why I first went there but I do remember a single just-warm Coffin Bay oyster, a shot glass of silken sweetcorn veloute, crisp, creamy Blue Swimmer crab and fennel croquettes.
Having eaten Pyke’s careful, generous, perfectly balanced fare, I swore to follow him around for the rest of my life.
When he resurfaced at Andaluz, I was there in a flash.
It wasn’t just that the guy could cook. It was his consistency and attention to detail, plus something less definable. A love of his craft perhaps, or an innate modesty that allowed his food to do the shining.
My recent return visit proved what I always hoped would be the case.
The city’s best food is to be found not at some fine diner charging megabucks but in this dimly-lit burrow of a late night bar tucked away within the city’s corporate hub.
If it’s intimacy you’re after, grab your head torch and seek out one of the leather Chesterfields that nestle deep within the bar’s vault-like confines.
There, surrounded by too-dim lighting and swirly lampshades, one gets to eat food that makes you smile on the inside.
For Pyke has spent the last year wisely, refining and condensing his menu until every little thing he does is magic.
Own-made chicken and pork sausage is love on a plate. Fat, juicy, gamey and full-flavoured, it sits on a hearty braise of small green lentils finished with a hint of cream.
A duo of just-set scallops sits atop a peppery confit of pork cheek, in turn amid a swirl of PX reduction.
Desserts are by way of a tasting plate, perhaps featuring a superb lemon tart with candied orange and a slick of buttery lemon curd, or a fat, oozing chocolate fondant cake topped with clotted cream.
The booze list is at least as good as the food. Staff offer a winning blend of accomplished friendliness and accommodating happiness. Go soon.
Sunday 24 April 2011
Margaret River Dreaming Autumn 2011
Value for money comes in many guises.
It's the $6 bowl of Vietnamese pho you wolfed down in a Northbridge cafe with laminated table and no air conditioning.
But it's also the $25 Waroona rabbit bresaola you scoffed at a schmick city fine diner with soft linen napkins and crystalline glassware.
In short, food is not all you pay for when dining out. Ambience costs. So does tableware. And location.
As to staff, the lure of lucrative north-west casual work has put paid to any self-respecting backpacker spending more than five minutes further south as a lowly-paid waiter.
Consequently it's a challenge for restaurateurs to train and keep good people. And guess what. This, too, adds to the cost of that chip butty you're munching on.
All of which brings me to Margaret River, where the likes of Vasse Felix, Clairault, Cullen, Xanadu, Leeuwin and Voyager Estate head up an impressive roll call of iconic cellar doors where lunch, as well as wine, is king.
There is much to enjoy here if a fancypants lunch is on your list of things to do. The Vasse Felix (9756 5000) has a vine-clad dining deck overlooking the region's first commercial vineyard.
Much of produce at Cullen Dining (9755 5656) comes from they winery's biodynamic garden, and some of the outdoor tables are right next to the vines.
At Voyager (9757 6354), the Renaissance kitsch meets Cape Dutch dining room is a chandelier clad wonder filled with plendid floral arrangements.
If it's dinner you're after, you'll luck out at pretty much every winery except Leeuwin Estate (9759 0000). There are some good places in Margaret River itself (Must and the diametrically opposed Arc of Iris, to name two). Out on the winery strip, the finest spot is the restaurant overlooking a pretty lake at Cape Lodge (9755 6311), a member of Luxury Lodges of Australia.
Here, Chef Tony Howells produces food that celebrates the local, capitalises on quality and is delivered to your table by exceptionally well-rehearsed staff.
On a recent visit I ate a fat chunk of moist, flavoursome marron – itself a miracle of careful cooking – wrapped in delicate, silken pasta and served with a browned butter. I loved it so much I almost died.
The only downside is the price ($29 or so for an entree) and the fact that if you're not staying overnight, you'll probably have to book your table several eons in advance.
Fortunately, beyond these top of the wozzer stop-offs lies a cheaper sub-strata of value-for-money dining rooms where the laid-back vibe and food with a strong sense of regional provenance more than make up for the lack of linen napery.
I'm thinking of weekend pizzas at Swings and Roundabouts winery (9756 6735), and the scruffy little open air dining room at the White Elephant (9757 1990) at Gnarabup, where the food is surprisingly classy and diners sit within inches of the beach.
But mostly I'm thinking of the recently-opened McHenry's Farm Shop and cellar door (9757 9684), where chef Sal Davis is producing the same simple, hearty, user-friend fare she cooked back in her days at the Millbrook Winery and, before that, with Maggie Beer in the Barossa.
The point of all this? I'm not really sure. Maybe it's that we all have decisions to make about what we want to spend our dining dollar on, and it's not always just about the food. File under horses for courses.
It's the $6 bowl of Vietnamese pho you wolfed down in a Northbridge cafe with laminated table and no air conditioning.
But it's also the $25 Waroona rabbit bresaola you scoffed at a schmick city fine diner with soft linen napkins and crystalline glassware.
In short, food is not all you pay for when dining out. Ambience costs. So does tableware. And location.
As to staff, the lure of lucrative north-west casual work has put paid to any self-respecting backpacker spending more than five minutes further south as a lowly-paid waiter.
Consequently it's a challenge for restaurateurs to train and keep good people. And guess what. This, too, adds to the cost of that chip butty you're munching on.
All of which brings me to Margaret River, where the likes of Vasse Felix, Clairault, Cullen, Xanadu, Leeuwin and Voyager Estate head up an impressive roll call of iconic cellar doors where lunch, as well as wine, is king.
There is much to enjoy here if a fancypants lunch is on your list of things to do. The Vasse Felix (9756 5000) has a vine-clad dining deck overlooking the region's first commercial vineyard.
Much of produce at Cullen Dining (9755 5656) comes from they winery's biodynamic garden, and some of the outdoor tables are right next to the vines.
At Voyager (9757 6354), the Renaissance kitsch meets Cape Dutch dining room is a chandelier clad wonder filled with plendid floral arrangements.
If it's dinner you're after, you'll luck out at pretty much every winery except Leeuwin Estate (9759 0000). There are some good places in Margaret River itself (Must and the diametrically opposed Arc of Iris, to name two). Out on the winery strip, the finest spot is the restaurant overlooking a pretty lake at Cape Lodge (9755 6311), a member of Luxury Lodges of Australia.
Here, Chef Tony Howells produces food that celebrates the local, capitalises on quality and is delivered to your table by exceptionally well-rehearsed staff.
On a recent visit I ate a fat chunk of moist, flavoursome marron – itself a miracle of careful cooking – wrapped in delicate, silken pasta and served with a browned butter. I loved it so much I almost died.
The only downside is the price ($29 or so for an entree) and the fact that if you're not staying overnight, you'll probably have to book your table several eons in advance.
Fortunately, beyond these top of the wozzer stop-offs lies a cheaper sub-strata of value-for-money dining rooms where the laid-back vibe and food with a strong sense of regional provenance more than make up for the lack of linen napery.
I'm thinking of weekend pizzas at Swings and Roundabouts winery (9756 6735), and the scruffy little open air dining room at the White Elephant (9757 1990) at Gnarabup, where the food is surprisingly classy and diners sit within inches of the beach.
But mostly I'm thinking of the recently-opened McHenry's Farm Shop and cellar door (9757 9684), where chef Sal Davis is producing the same simple, hearty, user-friend fare she cooked back in her days at the Millbrook Winery and, before that, with Maggie Beer in the Barossa.
The point of all this? I'm not really sure. Maybe it's that we all have decisions to make about what we want to spend our dining dollar on, and it's not always just about the food. File under horses for courses.
Friday 8 April 2011
The Walk Cafe
Lunch at The Walk for the first time. Best ever porcini gnocchi with tallegio cream, draped in prosciutto. Man they were good. Soft, unctuous, giving, etc. etc. etc. - and that was just the waitress. Seriously, this could be the best gnocchi in Perth. Lamb ravioli rocked not quite as loudly but still beat most of what one sees out there in filled pasta land. And it's all made in-house. Other highlights: A chocolate fondant kind of slice, all oozy and crisp on the outside, with that fabulous just-baked fragrance. The ice cream let it down. Wine was fab. Rose from Provence. Didn't realise just how good it was until a friend, lunching coincidentally on a neighbouring table, gave me a taste of her sauvignon blanc. It was like donkey droppings compared to the finesse of our little French treat.
Giving good Greek
The sis demands Greek food. Crispy lamb, she says, maybe a little white cabbage salad with things in it? You know what I like, Gutser, just make it happen woncha?
So dutifully I cook, even though all I really just to do is watch Biggest Loser Families on the 42 inch.
Sis has bought exceptional lamb chunks from Mondos, which I marinate in fresh oregano from the garden, lemon juice and zest, olive oil and loads of garlic. White cabbage is sliced thinly and mixed with chopped red capsicum, finely sliced red onion and some ripe tomatoes. The dressing: olive oil, garlic and lemon. No point creating juxtaposed flavours lest they clash, what.
The sis also bought some Royal Blue spuds, so I feel honour bound to do something with these, too. So I slice them finely, skin on, and boil them to tenderness in salted water.
Once cooked, I dress them while still warm in a mixture of olive oil, good quality tapenade (I used the one from Sal Davis at McHenry's Farm Shop in Margaret River), lemon juice and, you guessed it, garlic.
Because they're warm, the spuds soak up all the juices. Nice. I arrange them prettily on a dinner plate and finish with some grated lemon zest and some very finely sliced spring onion greens.
Oh, and a bowl of thick, creamy Greek yoghurt into which I stir some freshly chopped mint from the garden, a little salt and, damn it, some more garlic.
The microplane grater came into its own, producing the finest filigree of lemon zest and beautifully pureed garlic.
Leftovers were wolfed up by the slim blonde one, home from school and ravenous as usual. Much more sensible to get food of quality into her at hometime, rather than waiting until 6pm, by which time she's tired and full of noodles.
So dutifully I cook, even though all I really just to do is watch Biggest Loser Families on the 42 inch.
Sis has bought exceptional lamb chunks from Mondos, which I marinate in fresh oregano from the garden, lemon juice and zest, olive oil and loads of garlic. White cabbage is sliced thinly and mixed with chopped red capsicum, finely sliced red onion and some ripe tomatoes. The dressing: olive oil, garlic and lemon. No point creating juxtaposed flavours lest they clash, what.
The sis also bought some Royal Blue spuds, so I feel honour bound to do something with these, too. So I slice them finely, skin on, and boil them to tenderness in salted water.
Once cooked, I dress them while still warm in a mixture of olive oil, good quality tapenade (I used the one from Sal Davis at McHenry's Farm Shop in Margaret River), lemon juice and, you guessed it, garlic.
Because they're warm, the spuds soak up all the juices. Nice. I arrange them prettily on a dinner plate and finish with some grated lemon zest and some very finely sliced spring onion greens.
Oh, and a bowl of thick, creamy Greek yoghurt into which I stir some freshly chopped mint from the garden, a little salt and, damn it, some more garlic.
The microplane grater came into its own, producing the finest filigree of lemon zest and beautifully pureed garlic.
Leftovers were wolfed up by the slim blonde one, home from school and ravenous as usual. Much more sensible to get food of quality into her at hometime, rather than waiting until 6pm, by which time she's tired and full of noodles.
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