No35

PRETENSION on menus? Reports of its death have been greatly exaggerated. Check out No35’s contribution to the canon with this screed about its oysters: ‘‘Begins life as a wild caught, single oyster, handselected [sic] and subjected to choppy wind conditions and ocean swells, giving it a unique and briny flavour.’’ Phew.

The bivalves in question — Clair de Lune, from Australia’s finest oysterage, Moonlight Flat — certainly deserve accolades but that little spiel is more likely to induce pity.

The fun continues on the desserts list, which boasts a ‘‘pastry chef’s creation in progress’’. Crikey. Is it just me, or does anyone else have an image in their head of a pastry chef, toque askew, flouncing around the kitchen in a whirlwind of invention? It’s a pity that both times I’ve visited, over two months, it’s been the same dish. But more on that later.

The crew at No35 are trying rather hard but, in the context of their mission, I’ll forgive them their crimes. The latter-day reputation of hotel dining is cemented in Swiss rent-a-chefs, fusty French food and crimes against the bain-marie.

No35 has a second ghost lurking in the wings: Le Restaurant, the late three-hatted darling, in its time one of Melbourne’s finest fine-dining restaurants. Just to complete the circle, No35 is headed by Stuart McVeigh, who was lured to Melbourne from England to take the reins at Le Restaurant for two years until it closed its doors in 2005.

Visitors looking to taste the terroir of the city would be wise to stay at ground level to explore the beating pulse of the smaller, ethnically based eateries that define Melbourne. This is highly evolved, ultra-modern — sometimes complicated — food that feels, at times, like a showcase for the well-worn techniques of modern gastronomy running headlong into the current obsession for rusticity. The good news is that in the hands of McVeigh — who, post-Le Restaurant, worked at Fenix and the Botanical — they’re not mutually exclusive impulses. His food is light and textural and shows plenty of technique, with all the squiggles and splotches and foams and soils the term seems to imply these days.

Savoury ice-creams, too, although, with something of a contrarian’s  approach, they’re on the desserts list.

That aforementioned rusticity is evident in an entree of yellowfin tuna sashimi — a thick tranche of glistening, pale-pink flesh married with rough-hewn heirloom tomatoes, black olives (halved and in gel form) and a single large crouton ($25). You can see the modus operandi here: classic flavours and a touch of contemporary finesse. Disarmingly simple and thoroughly enjoyable.

More contemporary, both in attitude and presentation, is another entree of quail ($22), almost a whole,  dismembered and nicely cooked bird doing a rumba across the plate with a medley of nasturtium and intensely caramelised vegetables, some splotches of onion-flavoured gel and a rich duck-liver parfait. It’s a great mash-up of sympathetic flavours.

McVeigh’s menu is free of the big, heavy sauces familiar to international travellers of the hotel-dining ilk, although — ironically — this reversal of expectation can backfire.

A vegetarian dish of gnocchi with baby vegetables and oyster mushrooms was too austere for my taste but the corned beef ($39) — using David Blackmore’s wagyu girello — kept to the same songbook but delivered in spades. A high-concept version of comfort food, it featured a light, aromatic meat broth poured at the table, with an acid-bright salsa verde providing a lively counterpoint — among the most restorative high-end food you’re likely to find.

Some real winners also pop up in the sides — an heirloom carrot salad with a sweet, light dressing, fennel, plumped-up sultanas and oregano and mint ($10) is memorable in a way side-dishes rarely are. There’s also an amuse bouche of cauliflower foam and smoked eel that deserves to be promoted to entree status.
Desserts, on the other hand, come from noted pastry chef Ian Burch and had me scratching my head more than once.
That ‘‘pastry chef’s creation in progress’’ — which implies it’s made up on the fly, wouldn’t you think? — comprises little blobs of carrot cake with carrot puree and curry ice-cream ($22). Sensible readers won’t need my advice to avoid it. It’s perhaps the most extreme example of an envelope-pushing desserts list that plays on the outer edge of the fashionable sweet/savoury cross-over.

Nor is the service really at the levels you’d expect when shelling out $40 for a main course (or for a wine list with mark-ups that might leave locals au fait with the prices at Dan Murphy’s wincing in pain). It’s fair but lacks that flair you’d expect at this level — pardon the pun — of dining. Water glasses go unfilled and side plates hang around long after they stop being useful but the biggest criticism is reserved for the unflinchingly phlegmatic service. I’m not expecting charm-school graduates but a bit of personality would go a long way towards banishing the prevailing coolness of the stereotypical hotel dining room.

Which isn’t to say the room itself is without personality — far from it. Graced with the icy good looks of a Hitchcock blonde, it’s a study in white marble, with occasional flashes of red, some abstract artwork and a few statement light fittings to show it’s up with the trends. It’s just that, with that view, it’s all fairly redundant. Which isn’t the fate shared by McVeigh’s food. He’s doing a good job of competing with the Melbourne skyline for attention. With some work on the systems and some exuberance from the floor staff, the ghost of Le Restaurants past stand a good chance of being exorcised.

Score 15/20


SOURCE: Epicure