Farma Jones

Update: Farma Jones closed at noon on April Fools' Day, 2014.

Soil has been a bit of a gastronomic trend ever since Copenhagen's Rene Redzepi sent out little baby radishes stuck in a pot of hazelnut 'earth' in 2006.

Each radish pulled from the dark, chocolatey crumbs was inadvertently coated in a hidden layer of herb cream, in an echo of the earlier work of pioneering French chef Michel Bras. His renowned gargouillou creation was made up of 50 to 60 different edible plants, flowers and seeds, scattered with brioche crumb and black olive 'dirt'. Both approaches have been much copied around the world.

But never have I been served my first course in real (inedible) topsoil dug up straight from the farm, pink worms squiggling their way through the crumbly darkness, creating little tunnels of air that enrich it with oxygen. One simply ignores the worms, apparently, in favour of the baby carrots ($20), their vibrant greenery an open invitation to reach out and pull. It's a fitting introduction to Sydney's latest paddock-to-plate venture, Farma Jones.

The farmer in question is a fiction, created by young co-owners Johnny Deere, Alice Chalmers and Ferguson Browne, to highlight the disconnect between consumers and producers. And it's going off - especially on social media, where sightings have been reported of A-list diners Cate Blanchett, Lance Franklin and Natalie Imbruglia.

An alternative first course to the carrots, and a good one, is to pick-your-own edible flowers ($30) from the surrounding streets, which the kitchen then collates into an edible posy and dresses with pickle juice, making the flavours pop with fresh pepperiness.

Decor is suitably rural, the cobble-stoned floor strewn with sweet-smelling hay. I'm momentarily puzzled when the overall-clad waitress gathers up an armful of hay and disappears into the kitchen, then remember - ah yes, ham cooked in hay ($50). The meat is pink and luscious, rubbed with naturally harvested, unfiltered Sydney harbour salts and smoked over strawberry eucalypt, served with a not-too-sweet grape molasses glaze. Wines are natural, freshly fermented and lightly fizzy, accessed from two wooden kegs, one red and one white ($25 glass).

The chef is so committed to creating greater awareness of the effect of our food choices that he won't butcher the meat for the offal platter ($60) without the diner bearing witness. Health and safety regulations being what they are, this means the slight inconvenience of donning an unflattering hairnet before accompanying him to the meat chamber, where a sawn-off tree trunk acts as chopping block and a spotlessly clean chainsaw hangs on the wall. What follows is not exactly pleasant, but a timely reminder of where our food comes from - and heaven knows, that place isn't always pretty.

By the time it gets to coffee, I'm a little concerned that I'll have to go and roast it myself. But no, all I have to do is milk the cow, patiently tethered by the back door. Handed a dinky little steel bucket and a milkmaid stool, I settle by her warm flank, immediately surrendering to the sense of generosity and humanity involved in the simple act. Having gathered just enough for my wife's piccolo, I rest my cheek against her skin in silent thanks.

All that remains is for all the male diners to be invited outside to urinate on the lemon tree; a quaint Australian country tradition that supposedly benefits its growth through the constant immersion of nitrogen.

It's not often a restaurant has what it takes to close the gap between farm and table, paddock and plate, and grape and glass, but Farma Jones has it in spades.

tdurack@fairfaxmedia.com.au

Farma Jones

Address: 104 Green Street, Redfern
Phone: 2014 0104
Licensed: Yes
Open: Until noon, April 1
Cost: About $250 for two, plus drinks

The low-down

Best bit: The sense of everything being connected.
Worst bit: I can't take the cow home.
Go-to dish: Pick-your-own carrots, $20.