Monthly Archives: April 2010

beautiful dining space, lacklustre dining experience

My mother celebrates Easter, but I do not, being a heathen much to the chagrin, oddly enough of my non-practising Hindu father (no, I don’t get it either). Mum asked if she might have dinner with me and my partner, and wanting to keep the peace whilst my father is abroad for the funeral of his sister, I of course agreed.

Mum normally likes to keep her venturing local, unless it’s for a special occasion. Thinking her preferred local eatery was closed for the religious holiday, I booked for us to eat at Wesley Anne in Northcote.

Wesley Anne, dining area

See the delightfully romantic booths in the dining area in my admittedly appalling photo? We were not seated in them. Despite it being empty, we were put on a table so that all pedestrian traffic could squeeze past our table to get at the loo or outdoors. I’ve seen it remarked on Foursquare (did I just cite Foursquare?! Yes, I’m afraid I did) that the staff seem either vacant, or just plain distracted by goodness knows what. As we waited for our entrée, we were given a small plate of bread rolls, with olive oil and balsamic. Um, is one bread plate each too much to ask, guys?

 bread rolls with olive oil and balsamic vinegar

Mum and partner weren’t very hungry, so I suggested that we share the mussels in white wine amongst the three of us. Too bad it wasn’t fish or we’d have that Jesus thing down-pat (joke). Oh gosh, the mussels were very good. Partner reminded us all to save our bread to mop up the remnants of the sauce. It isn’t classy to do it, I’m sure, but I’d do it again.

 mussels with white wine

I suspect by how quiet Mum and partner were that I might have chosen the best main out of the lot – the French creamy chicken and bacon pie with mash and peas. More hearty, rustic food. The mash was pretty ordinary and quite dry (seriously, I’ve better mash made by non-foodies), so I left it begrudgingly despite my mash-love but put my peas in to get the leftover pie juice. That sounds a bit wrong but it wasn’t thick enough to call sauce as such. I was tucking into my pie with such gusto that I completely forgot to try what I assume was tomato sauce, as pictured below.

 chicken and bacon pie

Mum had the Wesley Anne’s take on chicken Maryland, which supposedly was Mexican (she said it tasted very Indian-inspired), and supposedly on pilaf. I’m a bit stumped as to why they drowned the so-called pilaf in sauce (yes, this time it’s sauce!) as that sort of ruins the fluffiness of pilaf. Mum didn’t utter a compliment once about the dish, which made me feel a little guilty about dragging her out all this way for unimpressive food. She did also note at one stage that a couple had come in and summarily inspected the menu and dashed off without ordering anything. Not a good sign. With a bit of pressing a few days later, she admitted she didn’t like her dish at all.

 chicken maryland

My partner had the pork salad, which sadly was very lacklustre. The amalgam of flavours from different cuisines suggested it didn’t quite know what it was, or what it wanted to achieve.

 pork salad

I am ashamed to say that the entire time here, I did not once imbibe an alcoholic beverage. Wine-lovers will appreciate the variety of the list, but I was in the mood for a decent beer and nothing took my fancy. Its atmosphere is a bit confusing: while on one hand it seems very plush and sophisticated, the service seems to indicate the contrary. It is standard practice at many pubs to help yourself to a menu and order at the counter, but that doesn’t mean that you have to forsake good customer service. There are dozens of other bars and restaurants on that strip of High St (some of my notables include the Northcote Social Club, and Kelvin). Having said all of that, because its location is 15-20 minutes out of the city, and it’s also a bike-ridable distance for me, I’d go again for a barhop especially since learning from Beer Bar Band that they had Mountain Goat Steam Ale on tap (I’m so kicking myself for not realising when I was there, sigh).

Note: photographs reproduced with kind permission of this kind fellow.

Wesley Anne on Urbanspoon

thank you for the good meals

My first more-than-one-shift-a-week job was at a Japanese restaurant in the city. It was a ‘character building’ experience in that my hourly rate was never over ten dollars an hour even once I turned twenty-one. Aside from the appalling pay and unofficial translation and English-teaching duties, it wasn’t too bad as all employees were fed, both lunch and dinner. Over countless shared meals with my colleagues, I learnt a lot about Japanese culture, as well as cuisine. For a start, as someone of (varied) Asiatic background, I was horrified to learn that my boss defined me as a typical Westerner. Fair enough, I’ve lived in the UK and Australia most of my life (I did spend one year in the Philippines when I was four).

I set about to rectify this immediately (embarrassingly, I’m still doing so…) and we discussed the meaning of the word ‘itadakimasu’, a greeting used at the beginning of a main meal. It literally translates as ‘thank you for the good meal’. Much to my colleague Yoshi’s frustration, I asked “Do we still have to say that even if the food’s crap?”. At first he looked shocked then realised, I was taking the piss.

I am a horrible tease.

It was birthday week and I was thrilled when the parents decided they wanted to take me out to dinner on my actual birthday – at first I was supposed to go to early music rehearsal but skived it. It seemed improbable we’d get a booking at Otsumami but they managed to squeeze us in. I’ve been to this fabulous restaurant a few times before but was nervous to go with my parents as they can be fussy.

It didn’t used to be so readily available, but one of my favourite starters is edamame – steamed, slighly salted baby soy beans. I’d like to claim that edamame is actually seasoned with crack, but this might get me into legal trouble. It is, of late, a current culinary addiction of mine. Best shared with a drinking buddy as sakana or otsumami (Japanese small dishes) often are.

edamame

Unlike the traditional à la carte menu, the dishes at Otsumami are divided by size – small, medium and large. Peko Peko in Collingwood also uses this system. The smaller dishes correspond roughly as entrées.

They sounded pretty ordinary to me, but Mum chose salmon harumaki from the small foods section. She was going to be the most critical of our dining troupe. but really seemed to enjoy these.

salmon harumaki

Dad chose the seared scallop sushi, which I’ve had before. They were so unbelievably succulent and cooked perfectly.

seared scallop sushi

On this occasion, I chose the special offered – tuna sashimi marinated with soy, sesame and a pistachio dressing, and finished with coriander. Pistachio is not something I would have thought would work with raw fish or the Japanese palate, but I was pleasantly surprised. The soft crunch of the crushed pistachio complemented the slivers of raw tuna.

tuna sashimi, entree special

Other standard items on the small foods menu previously enjoyed include oysters with daikon (I tried to order but sadly they were out), marinated green bean salad (which even those who aren’t fond of vegetables will love), and the sumisoe (the pronunciation is su-mi-so-eh, in case you’re wondering). My tummy hates avocado (rather against the wishes of my tongue) but I figured sampling this sweet miso marinated raw salmon dish was worth any gastric pain caused. I would have liked the avocado a tad firmer and in smaller cubes. This is one of the most expensive dishes in its group. Damn you delicious raw fish!

sumisoe

The sumisoe, I would argue is an essential selection at Otsumami. In the large dish group, the kinokodon is my nomination – several types of mushrooms served in a butter sauce. Again, butter with the woodier, more pungent Asian mushrooms doesn’t sound like an ideal pairing, but it is heavenly. This was the choice of main for my partner, a reformed mushroom-phobe. Along with your standard mushroom, there is enoki and sliced shittake all of which differ in flavour so much.

kinokodon

Dad had the deconstructed take on a niku don. I was worried the serving might not be enough, and that it would be too muted a choice, but he loved it.

niku don

Mum chose the very safe but satisfying lemongrass yakitori don. On account of its size, she wasn’t able to finish it. Like her chosen entrée, it too was beautiful in presentation. I’m glad she chose dishes I would have otherwise ignored – think I might have to try them myself one day.

lemongrass yakitori don

All of the selections above were from the large dish group, except mine which was a ‘medium’ one – the sake carpaccio (sake being Japanese for salmon here, not the Japanese rice wine). It’s a little difficult to see it with its deep-fried ocha soba hat, but you can view it in better detail on Flickr.

sake carpaccio, detail

On a previous occasion, I had the very filling tsuke sashimi don – too much rice for my liking, and not vinegary enough. I much prefer the CBD-located Meshiya’s sashimi (specifically tekka) don.

In the way of desserts there isn’t anything too ground-breaking – Mum and I both had crème brûlée though with different flavoured ice creams: I had green tea, she had black sesame.

The atmosphere and service are always consistently good, and the food really enjoyable and moderately priced. It’s also outside the city, and not ridiculously far from me. It gets tiring having to be in the city for all the good eats! I was especially grateful on this night that they managed to fit us in and the parents said they would dine there again. Definitely book ahead, as it’s quite small and popular.

Otsumami on Urbanspoon

a ninja’s guided tour of the local indian cuisine

 

I haven’t known Tristan for a very long time, but one thing I noticed about him when I first met him is his boundless enthusiasm to try anything new. This of course translated into food – we’ve both been to some fantastic places in Melbourne of all price ranges hunting about for a good feed. Tris is mainly the tech arm of Eat, Drink, Stagger but both myself and Ryan had been gently cajoling him to do a guest piece pretty much since the blog’s inception.

Finally, we have it. It turns out that Tristan is web dev by day, and ninja (of sorts) by night. You can find his personal non-food writings at Obfuscure, and he is also on Twitter as @tristankenney.
Initially I thought it wouldn’t work to align ninjas with Indian food, but I am sorely mistaken. Especially when said ninjas are locals at said Indian restaurant that Tristan is reviewing for us. We hope you enjoy the review, and that we can coax another post from Tris.

As a ninja I need to be at my absolute peak, all the time. Ninjas must defend against shuriken attack, poison darts, surprise attack ad infinitum. To obtain and maintain these vital razor-sharp reflexes – preventing a violent an untimely death – a ninja must train, and train hard. To maintain focus whilst training, a ninja needs to be nourished. As all ninjas (and ninja groupies / fanciers) know, a ninja’s favourite genre is Indian. Thus, prior to most ninja training sessions I can be found at the Indian restaurant Moza Corner in Clayton.

It was a summer night when I rounded up my ninja posse: my partner Ms G; my father (Ole Man) and step-mother (S. Mother); and my Auntie, or ‘Aunty’ as we fondly call her. Bundled into the ninja mobile (a 2009 Mazda 3), we set out across the great feudal wastelands (the eastern suburbs) to Moza Corner.

Bursting through the door, thumbs in kimonos we were an impressive sight.

We were quickly ushered to our table, menus in hand. While looking at the menu you can’t help but notice the television blasting the latest-and-greatest in Bollywood. Thoroughly entertaining but not optimal for conversation. But who am I kidding, we were here for the food.

As Ole Man and myself were (curry) battle veterans (of the establishment), we took charge and made dish selections for the ‘crew’: saag paneer, dhal makhani, goat vindaloo:

Selection of curries: saag paneer, dhal mahkani and goat vindaloo

Goan fish curry and eggplant curry:

 

Selection of curries: fish curry and eggplant curryThe requisite vegetable biriyani:

 

Vegetable biriyaniLastly, the mandatory serving of naan (in this case, Kashmiri naan):

 

Kashmiri naanPrior to ninja training session when Ole Man and myself would eat at Moza, we kept coming back to the same combination of dishes: saag paneer, eggplant curry, vegetable biriyani and garlic naan. Between the subtle curd-like cheese and spinach of the saag paneer, and the bombastic smoky flavours of the eggplant curry – coupled with the complimentary biriyani and garlic naan – it was the perfect selection for two.
Of course now that we had fellow ninjas, (or was that ninja fanciers? I forget) we needed to expand the curry bonanza. Ms G added the dhal makhani, one of her favourites. I tend to find lentil dishes a bit bland but fortunately for me, the dhal makhani was a flavoursome round-house kick to the taste-buds.

For the ‘vegetarian’ ‘Aunty’ we added the Goan fish curry (apparently fish is flora as opposed to fauna, at least according to some). The fish was tender. Ole Man chimed in and added a goat vindaloo. Again, lovely tender meat – just not enough of it for my liking. All of the dishes had wonderful sauces – a highlight of the Moza Corner experience. This ‘saucetopia’ resulted in members of the posse jostling to mop up the remainders, and despite a tense stand-off between Ms G and myself over the remainders of a dish, no ninja blood was spilt. After a quick survey of the table, the ‘ninja crew’ unanimously concluded the dishes were a hit, and at the price (of between $8 to $12) why wouldn’t they be?

Aside from Moza’s famed reputation as a ‘sustainer of the martially artistic’, it is also known for its prowess as an Indian sweet-maker, receiving a mention in The Age. Because of this, members of the posse were held at shuriken point and force-fed sweets. All members, except Ole Man that is. He is currently in the midst of a bloody war with that foul beast ‘Fructose’ *cue music*. Apparently showing one’s (mildly obsessive) father a video about the ‘evils’ of fructose will lead to fructose-induced paranoia and hysteria. But, back to the desserts. For me the kala jamun, gulab jamun for Ms G, and pista burfi for S.Mother and ‘Aunty’. By all accounts the sweet maker reputation was well deserved.

 

Indian sweetsDespite the come-hither-you-naughty-boy appeal of the sphinx-like guardians of the coffee machine…

 

St Ali's 10 Wise Men…we all declined after-meal drinks. The coffee machine didn’t look like it had been used since Indian independence was granted, and to be honest we were all too full for tea. So, with ninja-like grace we rolled out of the restaurant – full to bursting.

[DISCLAIMER]: I’m not really a ninja. I do, however, practice Kalis Ilustrisimo, which is just like being a ninja (only without the cool weapons and outfits).

Moza Corner on Urbanspoon