duckfesting at the Provincial

2 Replies

For many of us, Anna is the most prolific food blogger who doesn’t blog and boy can she organise a food blog wankster get-together. Perhaps she is the elusive Helena Lewis that The Age keep referring to whenever they need ‘commentary’ from ‘food bloggers’?

Naw, Anna’s far too adorable and is as consummate a cookie-foodie as she is an eatie one. It came time, she felt, to organise another beloved #duckfest and thus, Tristan and I were in attendance. On this particular occasion, we were treated to the expertise of chef Paul Cooper at the Provincial Hotel in Fitzroy.

I still remember the first #duckfest I went to that Anna organised. I am ashamed to admit that perhaps I did…let loose: did I really need an entire bottle of pinot with my duck? I still haven’t stopped being sorry to my fellow diners for my conduct though many were ridiculously gracious about the affair, bless.

Lesson learnt, and this #duckfest was a good deal more formal with a tantalising four-course menu being put together for our delectation. Being unfashionably late and stuck in traffic, the canapé of duck rillette on brioche was politely set aside for me by Tristan and my table companions. Of course, it was scoffed down upon arrival.

Our first official course was duck neck sausage, served Lyonnais-style with duck heart and liver, then finished off with poached duck eggs. Everything was perfectly balanced and so artfully arranged on the plate. Surprisingly, a gooey egg yolk set off the gaminess of the duck and its related offal really well. What a thrilling start to our #duckfest!

Our second course encouraged us to get our communal, interact-with-your-fellow-diners on: a bowl of duck cassoulet with pork belly and Toulouse sausage, finished in their wood oven. It was served in a deep bowl.

Seasoned duckfester Billy volunteered to plate up for me, Tris and Bec, seated next to me. Of course, he did a stellar job of divvying up the dish for our quartet, as the photo below can attest.

Not my first time having a cassoulet, having tried the one at Libertine in North Melbourne (which stands unreviewed but you can read reviews of two trips here and here) and also a top one cooked by eatie-cookie-foodie-academic Tammi, whose recipe can be found on her fabbo blog. Just the thing to stave off a cold, wet Melbourne winter evening. The duck and pork belly were deliciously crispy and the beans a perfect complement. And the best thing? There was enough for small second helpings!

Slowly approaching being all ‘meated’ out, our last savoury course still needed to be fitted in: pan-roasted duck breast alongside a caramelised endive and bacon tart fine, finished with rhubarb purée and duck à l’orange sauce. Naturally, the duck was the star of the show but the tart! what a glorious accompaniment, especially with the slightly acidic sauces.

It goes without saying, though I’ll say it anyway, everyone has room for dessert! Our last course: pumpkin seed frozen nougat and chocolate mousse adorned with almonds and honeycomb. Yes, the duckiness has officially come to a close. A great close to a duckfest with a heavy French cuisine slant.

As our party occupied more than one large table, not all of us got to talk to our fellow diners. It was most heartening to see that one guest on another table had brought his young son – a food blogger in training perhaps? He’s perfectly happy to try and get some good ‘money’ shots!

He probably got some good photos of the crew in medias res, but I like the calm after the storm too: no evidence of the frenzy that would have been preparing our delicious meal.

Thanks again, Anna, our beloved duck enabler for organising a lovely ducktacular feast and here’s to the next one! Where will she choose for us, next time?

south side sprawl – rampant consumerism

6 Replies

I take a good while to make a decision to purchase expensive items. I labour over the decision in my head; I weigh up the pros and cons. Usually the pros amount to “I want this new piece of shiny and it’d make me feel happy” and the cons “fleeting happiness is not edible and will not provide sustenance in the absence of food”.

The ‘pro’ argument tends to get louder the longer I obsess. But let’s be honest, I eat too much as it is! What’s a little self-inflicted starvation for the sake of a new shiny?

My latest internal ‘struggle’ was over the purchase of a new fancy-pants lens. I had tortured Gem with insentient talk of the damned thing for months. She was a good sport about the whole thing — she managed to constrain her homicidal mutterings to sleep talk. Well that, and there may have been a few failed smothering attempts. But I digress.

Finally, I gave in and I purchased the beauty.

Then I waited for it to arrive.

And waited.

And. Waited.

Then, after many a passive-aggressive tête-à-tête between myself and the retailer, the lens arrived! To celebrate, a South Side Sprawl was in order. You, the reader, I hope, rejoices.

After scouting Urbanspoon and reading Jeroxie’s review, Claypots Evening Star was decided upon. After some initial confusion in regards to the location due to gross enduncedness on my part, I found the restaurant. I was playing hookie from work and Melbourne was less of a petulant shit than normal, allowing the sun to make an appearance.

After attracting a glass of Gilgamesh riesling ($7 a glass) I took in the ohm-bee-ants of the place. Mr Dylan’s spastic harmonica was blaring from the loudspeakers and the aforementioned ‘skylight of the Gods’ was providing a good view of the kitchen. The kitchen bisects the restaurant and gives diners a view of the urgency in the kitchen and the madness of a busy service. A nice touch.

After responsibly imbibing inhaling my initial riesling and ordering another, Bob Dylan was replaced by a piano player. A lovely lunch time treat that’s repeated on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays. In addition to piano, diners can except one side of the restaurant to be closed off, allowing a band to play and an ad-hoc dance floor to function.

After my brief but intoxicating relaxation period, I resumed my delicious mission, deciding on the garlic clams and bread and fish. I had arrived along with the lunch time rush. Judging by the frantic and often raised voices emanating from the kitchen, I think they may still be finding their collective stride. As such, my food took longer than I would have expected, but it was a lovely day and the wine was doing the trick.

Above show the clams in various states of undress. They were wonderful, with a lovely chilli kick and chargrilled smokiness balanced by the freshness of the coriander. Unfortunately the one piece of bread was not nearly enough to mop up the broth, with the delicious concoction seemingly taunting me from the bottom of the bowl. At $12 it was a generous serving size, and it has me in the mood for more clams. Speaking of clams, the clam chowder seemed to be a crowd favourite amongst fellow diners.

While I could have quite happily stopped at the garlic clams, I’m glad I had the bread and fish. Throughout my childhood I was tortured with my mother’s overcooked trevally. Fortunately for me her sadistic streak rarely surfaced. Even so, I was sufficiently scarred that I avoided the aforementioned fish, errantly assuming the fish to be bland, rather than blaming its heavy-handed preparation.

Fortunately this was nothing like the trevally of my childhood — meaty and perfectly seasoned, it was the star of the dish. The bread was fairy floss fluffy with the onion and lettuce providing a nice textural contrast, if not a lot flavourwise.

One side of the kitchen is skirted by display cases showing the day’s fish and tapas offerings. You really get the impression of the seafood being super fresh, almost like you’re sourcing the fish direct from the a fishmonger. Unsurprising given the restaurant’s location in the South Melbourne market.

Lunch was finished and I had to vacate with new camera lens in hand. I was slightly rueful that I had dined solo. Unfortunately I didn’t have the extra dining companions required to (shamelessly) indulge in further gluttony. Next time I won’t make the same mistake.

an invite for a pint of cider

Leave a Reply

I’ve never felt comfortable with the decision to accept PR contact because, I don’t know why, it feels a little…dirty – but yes, I have done it (so before you slag me off, I am ‘tainted’, hehe). It feels like a bit of a slippery slope: once you start accepting freebies, at what point do you a) stop because free stuff is ace especially when you’re poor and b) does it impugn on the impartiality of your review of the product or the meal?

This feels like more of a concern in the food blogging world. Not so much for beer blogging: I know beer journalists (yep, journalists, not bloggers) that get free beer – how else are they supposed to review it and make a living? Reviewing and visiting breweries is a time-intensive exercise – and I only do it for fun. I imagine it’d be trickier for those in the biz.

Sadly, I’m not in that journo camp. When brewery owner Nick Strong actually contacted this here humblr blog via our contact form (like whut?! people use our contact form? awesome!) to offer us free Coldstream cider because we didn’t have many cider reviews on the blog, I replied and said that Tristan and I would be happy to visit but would pay our own way, sample the brewery’s wares and report accordingly. This occurred last Sunday.

First things first. If you want to go to Coldstream Brewery for lunch, you’d best book. I’d erroneously made the mistake of assuming that it’d be perfectly okay for me and Tristan to just swan in sans booking as the owner was expecting us. Strike one Gem. The brewery was absolutely packed. So yes, if you visit, book. Plus, it’s just good manners. Shame on me.

After finding an awkward table to sit at, two beer tasting paddles were ordered. Just the thing for frazzled nerves.

From bottom to top: the autumn porter, the chocolate winter ale, the pilsner, the naked ale and lastly the crushed apple cider. Unavailable on tap, as they were seasonal brews were the spring lager and the summer ale though we did pick up a bottle of the latter upon leaving.

We started with the pilsner, which is closest to their ‘draught’ ale. It is very clean, refreshing and sessionable. Next up the naked ale which I’m a fan of – again, very sessionable, flavoursome and well balanced. This is the kind of beer I’d want to buy a six-pack of if I were going round to visit a good mate.

Third in the sequence is the chocolate winter ale, ooh what scrumminess! Surprisingly bitter, or more so than expected but you can definitely taste the chocolate and its scent permeates the beer to the last drop. Do note that the bitterness is not at all unpleasant. Try this while it’s available, it’s lovely!

Our waitress informed us that this year’s version of the autumn porter was nicer than previous year’s. It was roasty, with burnt coffee notes, a smooth mouthfeel though quite carbonated. Perhaps a tad too thin for a porter? Personal preference, but I would have preferred perhaps less of the burnt notes.

Ah but what of the cider? Coldstream’s cider is made of red apples and no concentrate though the odd green apple sneaks in, cheeky whatsit. The one on tap was the crushed apple cider at 5% ABV (not to be confused with their regular cider) and it was gorgeously clean and clear, bubbly, not too dry or too sweet which made it freaking fantastic.

Now, onto the food. There’s an excellent selection of food but judging from the price of the mains ($25-35), massive. I wasn’t particularly hungry when we arrived so I opted for the caramelised onion, goat cheese and spinach tart with walnut, roquette and pomegranate molasses.

It was going to be obvious that I’d wallop said entrée above so to bulk that up a bit, I got a side of simple steamed vegetables. It did the trick, providing a substantial meal.

Tristan made his life nice and easy and opted for the ol’ faithful parma.

Our Coldstream adventures didn’t end there – we ended up taking home a 750mL bottle of the summer ale (seasonal release), a regular stubby of the original cider (for ‘research’!) which stands at 7% ABV and seems more tart. You can definitely taste the alcoholic content in it and perhaps though I confess I’m sensitive to it, more of that cider sulphurousness was evident and so I prefer the crushed apple cider. We also bought a six-pack of the porter regular which went down a treat. Again, I liked this more than the autumn porter because I felt it had a thicker mouthfeel and just more depth of flavour.

Erm, I may not have any notes on the summer ale, but it was shared liberally between three of us and went down a treat during a True Blood watching marathon. ‘Nuff said.

eat, drink, stagger

a very tame lone wolf (formerly in cahoots with riff-raff) who loves to do the above

duckfesting at the Provincial

south side sprawl – rampant consumerism

an invite for a pint of cider