light pools
Andrew McConnell. Melbourne's best. This is my call and I stand by it.
Well, it's unfair to say best. Perhaps my favourite, is the better way to put it. Teage Ezard, the 3 muskateers at Becco, Michael Darmanin, Robert Castellani and Paul Wilson, they're certainly up there on my hit list of champions, to be sure.
McConnell, though. He's something else.
Consider the 'ography:
D211 was one of the coolest rooms in town, a real aesthetic innovation, and in a none-too commercially safe area for fine food, too, it should be pointed out. I think this helped in multiplying the cachet, truth be told - just like in Manhattan, for example, where the more remote, the more elite.
Service bars were raised, and so too was the food - right up there into the upper echelons of fine dining, but without being fussy. This is the knack of McConnell: extreme detail, incredible attention to taste and texture, but never to a point where you are overwhelmed or confronted. Just right. In fairness, Ezard does this just as well.
Mrs. Jones, then, was a logical offshoot for McConnell - of course I say this with hindsight, but there was no question of the boldness in making such a move. Mrs. Jones stepped aside from D211, going all super cool bistro in the prettiest part of North Carlton, tapping straight into the bloodline of people, well, just like me.
Mrs. Jones was, and still is, D211-lite, but in the nicest of ways, particularly when it comes to the bill. The food quality isn't sacrificed, the menu options are simply limited. The wine list isn't as extensive, but it's snappy and clever, and if you aren't happy with it (you'd have to be Parker to be upset with it, though, I might point out, and even then...) a BYO option is offered. The staff are just as good, and the ambience just as much of a hook, if not more casual, which is, after all, the intention. I visit perhaps once every 6-8 weeks, if that is to tell you anything.
And then there's Circa.
I finally got there on Saturday night, after more than a few false starts - going as far back as when Michael Lambie was cooking there.
In a word - outstanding.
Let's point out the obvious first. Superb room - up there with the greats for mine, and individual, as are all the best (Donovan's, Becco, Di Stasio, Vue de monde). Peerless service - you would expect it, but it still surprises; Eric, our waiter was faultless. Wine list that will bring you to tears, and a sommelier who wants you to ask for thoughts (I think I upset Chris by not consulting him, but I just couldn't help myself - kid in a candy shop and all that). Ambience and vibe that takes it to a whole other level: like kids brought to attention in class, no one is taking this experience for granted, so you will not receive the negative residue from other diners that can often take the shine off your night out.
As for the main event, well, words just don't seem to suffice. You recognise the McConnell signature but it's always a different pen with which he writes it. On this occasion I even tried to trip him up - what was I thinking? - by ordering what appeared to be a very simple fillet of wagyu beef, but alas, it was not to be. While Adrian Richardson of La Luna is typically the man to whom I turn for a steak, I have to deviate in loyalty here and admit this particular piece of meat was amongst the finest I have had. A thick fillet with an immaculately seared exterior cut to reveal a perfect, medium-rare interior which almost flaked off on the fork and certainly melted in the mouth. But this is McConnell, right?, it can't be just meat, so the fillet is crusted with anchovies, olives and bread crumbs - which I guess as it reads off the page sounds a little de rigeur, but it just so was not it isn't even funny.
My wonderful partner chose the duck dish which was slow cooked duck meat encased in a pasty brik. Those of you who have spent any time at Mrs. Jones may have tried something very similar and it was nice to see it here in its deluxe format. It was just delicious, and of course divinely theatrical, which gets those buds going before it even hits the mouth.
Entrees, rabbit terrine and tiger prawns w/ Spanish anchovy and gazpacho jelly, and desserts, pistachio marzipan cake and a deviously rich milk chocolate sorbet, were equally out of this world. By the end of it, both partner and I were sated into a whole other universe. This is not to overstate, believe me.
But as I hope I have explained well enough earlier in this piece, it's not all about the food. It's about the overall experience You would not come if the food was bad, but at the same time, the attention to detail concerning every aspect of your evening is just as important. This is where McConnell excels. He knows what he's doing and the 3 for 3 record validates the theory. John Lethlean, a food writer with The Age, the best paper we have here, nails it.
In the meantime, I raise my Riedel glass of Latour to the chef.
Well, it's unfair to say best. Perhaps my favourite, is the better way to put it. Teage Ezard, the 3 muskateers at Becco, Michael Darmanin, Robert Castellani and Paul Wilson, they're certainly up there on my hit list of champions, to be sure.
McConnell, though. He's something else.
Consider the 'ography:
Diningroom 211Diningroom 211 was, when it was operating, for mine the best place to eat in Melbourne outside of Ondine. The Cookes were the only competition in my opinion and, as a brief aside, they too would be on my list if they were cooking here but Donovan's off in Hong Kong at the Jockey Club, I believe, and I don't know what Philippa is doing .
Mrs. Jones
Circa
D211 was one of the coolest rooms in town, a real aesthetic innovation, and in a none-too commercially safe area for fine food, too, it should be pointed out. I think this helped in multiplying the cachet, truth be told - just like in Manhattan, for example, where the more remote, the more elite.
Service bars were raised, and so too was the food - right up there into the upper echelons of fine dining, but without being fussy. This is the knack of McConnell: extreme detail, incredible attention to taste and texture, but never to a point where you are overwhelmed or confronted. Just right. In fairness, Ezard does this just as well.
Mrs. Jones, then, was a logical offshoot for McConnell - of course I say this with hindsight, but there was no question of the boldness in making such a move. Mrs. Jones stepped aside from D211, going all super cool bistro in the prettiest part of North Carlton, tapping straight into the bloodline of people, well, just like me.
Mrs. Jones was, and still is, D211-lite, but in the nicest of ways, particularly when it comes to the bill. The food quality isn't sacrificed, the menu options are simply limited. The wine list isn't as extensive, but it's snappy and clever, and if you aren't happy with it (you'd have to be Parker to be upset with it, though, I might point out, and even then...) a BYO option is offered. The staff are just as good, and the ambience just as much of a hook, if not more casual, which is, after all, the intention. I visit perhaps once every 6-8 weeks, if that is to tell you anything.
And then there's Circa.
I finally got there on Saturday night, after more than a few false starts - going as far back as when Michael Lambie was cooking there.
In a word - outstanding.
Let's point out the obvious first. Superb room - up there with the greats for mine, and individual, as are all the best (Donovan's, Becco, Di Stasio, Vue de monde). Peerless service - you would expect it, but it still surprises; Eric, our waiter was faultless. Wine list that will bring you to tears, and a sommelier who wants you to ask for thoughts (I think I upset Chris by not consulting him, but I just couldn't help myself - kid in a candy shop and all that). Ambience and vibe that takes it to a whole other level: like kids brought to attention in class, no one is taking this experience for granted, so you will not receive the negative residue from other diners that can often take the shine off your night out.
As for the main event, well, words just don't seem to suffice. You recognise the McConnell signature but it's always a different pen with which he writes it. On this occasion I even tried to trip him up - what was I thinking? - by ordering what appeared to be a very simple fillet of wagyu beef, but alas, it was not to be. While Adrian Richardson of La Luna is typically the man to whom I turn for a steak, I have to deviate in loyalty here and admit this particular piece of meat was amongst the finest I have had. A thick fillet with an immaculately seared exterior cut to reveal a perfect, medium-rare interior which almost flaked off on the fork and certainly melted in the mouth. But this is McConnell, right?, it can't be just meat, so the fillet is crusted with anchovies, olives and bread crumbs - which I guess as it reads off the page sounds a little de rigeur, but it just so was not it isn't even funny.
My wonderful partner chose the duck dish which was slow cooked duck meat encased in a pasty brik. Those of you who have spent any time at Mrs. Jones may have tried something very similar and it was nice to see it here in its deluxe format. It was just delicious, and of course divinely theatrical, which gets those buds going before it even hits the mouth.
Entrees, rabbit terrine and tiger prawns w/ Spanish anchovy and gazpacho jelly, and desserts, pistachio marzipan cake and a deviously rich milk chocolate sorbet, were equally out of this world. By the end of it, both partner and I were sated into a whole other universe. This is not to overstate, believe me.
But as I hope I have explained well enough earlier in this piece, it's not all about the food. It's about the overall experience You would not come if the food was bad, but at the same time, the attention to detail concerning every aspect of your evening is just as important. This is where McConnell excels. He knows what he's doing and the 3 for 3 record validates the theory. John Lethlean, a food writer with The Age, the best paper we have here, nails it.
There is something new and exciting happening in the first-floor dining room of... The Prince, and it only goes to prove, once again, that a head chef is indeed a chief, a leader, a captain-coach whose influence goes a long way beyond the words on a menu and the food on a plate.But don't take our word for it - get out there and see for yourself. Just don't forget which restaurant is which because the difference is missing a mortgage payment.
In the meantime, I raise my Riedel glass of Latour to the chef.
posted by W at 11:46 pm
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