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Ezard

Gabriella Coslovich

Pan-roasted baby barramundi from Ezard restaurant in Flinders Lane.
Pan-roasted baby barramundi from Ezard restaurant in Flinders Lane.Eddie Jim

Good Food hatGood Food hat17/20

Contemporary$$$

ON A cold and wet Melbourne night, the rain-glossed Adelphi Hotel, on Flinders Lane, looks marvellously chic and Manhattan-esque. Ezard is in the Adelphi's basement, down a seductively steep set of stairs, announced by a shiny chartreuse sign emblazoned with a single, lower case "e" - very much a sign of the times. Lower-case spelling was fashionable in 1999 when this veteran of Melbourne's fine-dining scene opened and is still the rage at "ezard".

I won't easily forget my first visit, late last year. It was, I must confess, a memorably frustrating experience, thanks to affable Melbourne architect John Denton, whose firm Denton Corker Marshall designed the Adelphi, converting it from a rag- trade warehouse into the sleek hotel it is today.

I'd heard great things about the basement restaurant and was looking forward to indulging in chef Teage Ezard's legendary Asian-inspired contemporary dishes over a lunch interview with Denton. But Denton was on a diet. He ordered two spartan entrees. Out of politeness (or idiocy), I did the same, and have rued the decision since. And so it's with great expectation that I head into the ezard bunker again - that lower-case "e" drawing me down, like an "e" for "ecstasy", "euphoria" or "excess".

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ezard.
ezard.Supplied

A surge of warmth and animated chatter envelops us as we enter ezard's long, narrow dining room, packed, even on this arctic Tuesday night, with professional types. (You still need to book a month in advance to secure a spot on Friday or Saturday night). To descend into the civilised cosiness of ezard on such an evening is bliss; the down lights are turned flatteringly low, the heat turned up. We are shown to our table, set with white linen so crisp it looks like the handiwork of the '80s Fabulon lady.

As one would expect from its Denton Corker Marshall DNA, ezard's interior is minimal, the lines sharp, the colour scheme monochrome, white linen, black chairs, and yet certain touches - the charcoal carpet (a great buffer for noise), the plush, grey suede benches - make the room cosseting rather austere. A dark and moody painting by Australian artist Tony Clark graces the back wall - bought by Ezard in 2002 from the Anna Schwartz Gallery next door.

One might be so bold to suggest that in this cultural canton of the city, Teage Ezard is the most people-pleasing artist of all. His culinary creations are sculptural and sensory feats; he is to food what Denton is to buildings and Philip Treacy to hats. Thirteen years on, his style may no longer be considered avant garde, but signature dishes such as his chilli caramel pork hock and oyster shooters have passed into the realm of classics.

The attention to detail at ezard begins with the condiments - many top-end restaurants would be content to serve quality bread and olive oil. Here the dipping oil is infused with parmesan, rosemary and garlic, and served alongside three flavour-popping condiments that prepare the palate for the spectrum of sweet, sour and spicy flavours to come: prickly ash (Sichuan pepper and sea salt), chilli sugar, and a Japanese-inspired number featuring bonito flakes, dashi powder and nori strips. My coeliac friend is delighted by the quality of the gluten-free bread offered (a rarity, she has found) and the provision of a separate dipping oil plate as well.

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There was a time when staff here could be patronising to those who didn't appear to fit the affluent ezard demographic - but the problem seems to have been put right. There was no hint of condescension when I clumsily described the white wine selected for us as "salty". "Lots of minerality," our waiter subtly corrected. Indeed. The wine, a Salina Bianco from Sicily, was clean, complex and perfect for the food.

Ezard has an eight-course tasting menu, including a vegetarian version, but we opt for a la carte. I start with an entree of seared Canadian scallops, plump and beautifully browned, set off by the salty-sweetness of a miso caramel coating, topped with finely sliced and fried betel leaves, and served on an earthy bed of edamame puree. Simply wonderful. My friend opts for a salad of baby beetroot, witlof and Iberico jamon, tailored to her needs - like the bread, it gets the thumbs up.

On a less exuberant note, the potato gnocchi, with Jerusalem artichoke cream, black garlic, morels and pea foam, ordered on a subsequent visit, while as good-looking as any of ezard's dishes, lacked punch - the play of flavours atypically underwhelming. Much better was an entree of char siu quail: boned and pan-fried quail, marinated in a sweet plummy sauce, served on a Mandarin pancake, and topped by a zingy salad of coriander, cucumber and lime.

For me, the prize dish is a main of crisp-skinned, pan-roasted baby barramundi, with caramelised eggplant, tomato and lime salad, on a base of rice, with yellow curry. It's Ezard's favourite. The dish arrives with theatrical dash - luminescent-green pearls of tobiko, or flying fish roe infused with wasabi, are arranged on the bottom of the plate and the curry poured over.

Of course, we try the famed pork hock. It lives up to its reputation, but is not for the restrained.

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For dessert, the mango bavarois, topped with slow-cooked Corella pears, is delicate and fragrant. More to my gluttonous bent, though, is the honey-crunch ice-cream: a double-scoop stack of delight, with toasted gingerbread and topped with a Treacy-like canopy of glistening toffee-swirl. I love the taste and texture of the burnt honeycomb chunks that offset the ice-cream.

Ezard still excels, even if it is with a lower-case "e".

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