Slow Down!@Harley Court

Score: 13/20

IF YOU’RE interested in food — and I mean really interested, not just in a MasterChef kind of way — then you’ve probably made it your business to see Food, Inc. and The End of the Line. Gritty, unflinching food documentaries that should be watched with a handful of antidepressants and possibly a bottle of gin, as they detail the unappetising truth of industrialised food production and the shadow it casts over food’s emergence as the art of the 21st century.

As arresting as they are, the arguments of Joel Salatin and Michael Pollan aren’t nearly as persuasive — yet — as those of the venerable Ronald McDonald, judging by the brisk trade underneath the golden arches directly across Acland Street from SlowDown!@Harley Court.

Harley Court is the building, Slow Down! is the restaurant that used to be Lo Spuntino, next door to the once iconic Dogs Bar. They’re owned by the same guy, David Carruthers, who, after ingesting the message of the slow-food movement, relaunched several months ago with a menu based on ethical producers found (mostly) within the self-imposed geographical limit of 200 kilometres. The parochialism extends to wine — the list is all Victorian, with the unnecessary exception of a Tasmanian sparkling.

But first, let’s get the elephant out of the room. Slow Down!@Harley Court is a recent convert to the green revolution and the giddiness of this new romance has resulted in the most ill-conceived restaurant name since Thai Me Kangaroo Down Sport. Where to start? The ‘‘at’’ symbol, a throwback to the ’90s when this new thing called the internet was getting people all excited; the earnest little acronym (‘‘slow’’ stands for slow, local, organic and whole animal, in case you were wondering); the preachy exclamation mark. I’d also argue it’s not a great idea to stamp wine glasses with the words Slow Down! Yes, mother, I will.

I hate the name but admire their bravery. Other more polished, more structured operations have sunk after putting the ideological cart before the donkey — notably Paul Mathis’s rather fine SOS and 100 Mile Cafe, which, instead of tapping into some dining gestalt, ended up as sacrifices on the altar of public indifference.

Nor is Slow Down (I can’t bear to put the exclamation mark in any more, so you’ll just have to imagine it) a triumph of eco-minded pragmatism over style. The building itself might be pleasant enough but it still feels like a shabby-Euro-chic St Kilda bar struggling to be a proper, grown-up restaurant — a vibe not helped by the laminated, blown-up happy snaps of farmers grinning with their unsuspecting pigs. You don’t need to pay a fancy designer to come up with something better than that.

Maybe the operation is relying on the flow-on effect of goodwill to compensate for its lack of comfort but the tiny tables struggle to fit plates and it’s so dark the menus come with little lights attached to them. Onthe plus side, it makes the average person look twice as attractive but I like to see my food when I eat. I also like restaurants to have a front door in winter. It’s cold, unless you sit directly underneath the split system down the back, in which case — you guessed it — it’s hot.

The philosophy is bold — although the inclusion of zucchini flowers on a July menu is taking the piss out of ‘‘seasonal’’ — but the food otherwise won’t raise any eyebrows. Slow Down sticks to a familiar, vaguely Mediterranean template and much of it is classic, unpretentious and good value, although I wonder  where the prime cuts of meat have wound up under their ‘‘whole animal’’ regime. The meal is themed from the beginning. Crusty sourdough rolls baked in-house; pink lake salt; Yarra Valley olive oil; organic Timboon cream used to churn the butter in-house. Good stuff.

Entrees are, with a single exception, vegetarian-friendly. There’s a lively, creamy-crunchy salad of organic beetroot, chickpeas, witlof, walnuts and labne ($14). Jerusalem artichoke soup spiced with thyme and cinnamon ($13) is all the more likeable for the little golden artichoke chips on the side, but there’s an ocean of honey sitting on the bottom. Mains skew towards those happy animals on the wall, plus the less cuddly inhabitants of Port Phillip. Among the latter there’s a superb piece of rock flathead ($29), simply pan-fried into an argument for the cause, although the cannellini bean puree isn’t as silky as I would have hoped. Salsa verde and buttery young leeks complete the equation.

A cut of braised pork belly in a tomato-based white bean stew with some decent chorizo and crumbly black pudding ($29) speaks to the season but needs something green and fresh to round it out — advice from the waiters would have been good on that count — and the wagyu oxtail (braised and picked off the bone, $27) needs far more meat juices to carry the comforting flavours of winter.

But I liked the gnochetti ($24) with a creamy sauce that owes a vote of thanks to a soulful Milawa washed rind cheese. It’s padded out with shiitake and Swiss brown mushrooms, little nubs of chestnut and the green respite of pureed nettle.

Desserts go either way. The chocolate dish — a bitter quenelle of dark chocolate mousse surrounded by sprinkles of chocolate ‘‘soil’’ and rosemary salt and a caramel sauce ($13) — tries a bit hard, although the flavours are sound. At the other end of the spectrum, a quince crumble ($13) is homely and forgettable.

I’ll pay it its dues: Slow Down! @Harley Court (oh, the pain) is a bold new entry in a difficult genre. Whether it suffers the fate of its forebears will be an interesting window into changing awareness. Although if anyone wants to raise my consciousness, these days it’s probably best to do it over dinner.