If Chairman Mao were alive he’d like Kitsch Bar.

It might have been for the oriental beauties stoically smiling in the tawdry beer adds that canvas the walls. Or the palm-sugar-and-fish-sauce wafts emanating from the kitchen. One thing I’m sure, he would have agreed on though:

Kitsch can do good noodles. With somewhat Asian frugality.

My antennae for a meal was prompted by a friend who suggested to try the “pad thai and chang” night on a Tuesday.

Sure, $19.20 was a reasonable price to pay considering the location, besides, not having to find your way through an Asian enclave forfeits price for convenience.

For a Tuesday night, perhaps under the allure of the “pad thai and chang”, Kitsch was bopping along. A personable waitstaff greeted, spieled and serviced us with a less austere nature than most traditionally run Asian eateries. That I suppose is a bonus.

How was the Chang and the dimpled beer glass? Solidly good.

How was the pad thai? Damn good.

The complexity of flavour was like the yin and the yang. Spot on. Peanuts, beansprout, shrimp, fish sauce and lime juice all in direct quantities. The serving bowl is as authentic as the rickety wooden chair we sat on.

Though the noodles were gluggy in consistency, unlacing them with a fork was a feeble business—chopsticks would have been the perfect dining implement. I was actually surprised they didn’t have any upon request.

Strange huh?

Kitsch Bar has an Asian resort meets shabby chic meets post WWII prosperity feel to it.

The menu is neat and well thought through with the pad thai being as real-deal without the need to buy an air ticket. South East Asia is the Kitsch’s focus and street food what they wish to evoke.

Now if only they were at street food prices.

I often wonder what the owners of that cafe on the corner of Newcastle and Oxford think when they look down the road towards 224 Carr Place on Sunday morning.

Perhaps we should refocus our menu?

Maybe serve unsacrificed coffee?

Or that we should check out the competition?

Whatever the sentiment, I’m sure there is infatuation at a distance with the crowd tapping their watches waiting to get into a cramped little hive — Sayers.

There is no way I could call this a ‘find’ no sir-rey.

Most people know Sayers is one of the places to take your East-Coast mates because you’re petrified with what you’re going to be culinarily spasmed with outside the know-zone of cafes in Perth.

This place – like Mrs. S – does a roaring trade.

Why? Inspiring dishes. Check. Reasonable prices. Check. Amicable staff. Check.

A confident yardstick to base your dining experiences on is your desire to replicate what you’ve seen on display. I call it inspirational. Sayers is inspiring.

After making stilted small-talk on the footpath outside Sayers with other hopeful walk-ins, we were seated on the large centre table. Two other odd-ball groups shared our table at the same time. Apparently three patrons is an inauspicious number to dine with. You’re not quite a four seater but you’re too big for two.

Sensing my level of nitrosamines were down for the week, I chose the spicy italian sausage, scrambled egg, wilted spinach with toasted extra virgin olive oil ciabatta. I’m curious to know where they source their italian sausage from. It’s not Mondo’s. I know that sausage…um…quite well.

Misshandmaid,who effused all morning about the coriander & cumin beans, babganoush, poached egg and toasted rosemary oiled turkish bread, was duly ecstatically satisfied while covetously glancing at the our friend’s potato rosti, poached eggs and bacon with onion jam and lemon scented wilted spinach.

These are meals that show there is more going on in the engine room. A love of food–an impetus for imagination–atypical of the humdrum Perth cafe.

To benchmark the coffee (long black), it was a straight-down-the-line uncomplicated style. Nothing too overpowering or wild and woolly going on. Hazarding a guess it’s denoticlly South American.

In all honesty you could whinge about how there was no cold water, or that the glasses were still warm from being washed, or that we had to inflict ourselves upon a shared table. But I believe in all fairness, Sayers does something extraordinary everyday 7am–5pm by inspiring diners with dishes they’ll strive to make at home.

Maylands is turning out to be quite a neat little suburb.

I say that because the times when, by happenstance I venture down the profoundly named Eighth Ave, I find boutique ready heritage-encrusted buildings and the hope that local government zoning will catch up with sweaty-palmed developers.

There will be more of the Mrs S type shops soon — for this is a recipe worth replicating.

The cafe is by most standards, honest, upfront, and accessible. How the hell can you classify a cafe as being honest? Are there dishonest cafes out there?

Well all truthfulness considered, what makes up an honest cafe is the fact that when you go there, despite how busy it is, the staff are accommodating (regardless of the amount of tables turned over), the food is plated up well, the flavour is on the mark, and you can walk away without the feeling as though you’ve burnt a hole in your hip pocket.

Mrs S is a high-ceilinged, pastel daydream, hyper-nostalgic offering that everyone wants a slice of. Just check the glistening (slices) out. It’s a pin-up girl of hipstamatic ecstasy.
We went to Mrs S on a cramped and humid Sunday morning. Hard walls do nothing to absorb the sound of happy patrons.

I opted for Granny June’s cornbread, bacon, poached eggs and maple syrup. While the flavour was all there, the cornbread had the character and texture denoting a creamed-corn element, something that perhaps makes it Granny June’s recipe.

The cornbread I’ve had in the past (not from Mrs S but from a place to be blogged) was firm, moist, and with a peculiar granular corn-meal texture (akin to polenta). This was a ‘close but not cigar’ moment of matching for Mrs S. Bread with a firmer texture can hold its ground against bacon and poached eggs or else you’ll end up with a pappy mess.

Both those two elements (the eggs and bacon) were both fine examples of a kitchen doing it right. Besides, if you eff up these two elements, then perhaps undertaking would be a worthwhile career path.

Finally what to say about Mrs S’ coffees?

The barista on the day certainly knew his way around the machine and top marks for that. The long black delivered, deftly retained the crema for a considerable time and my partner’s macchiato would certainly precipitate a return visit.

Would this be a place I’d return to? Yes for coffee, Yes for atmosphere and God yes for cakes. But perhaps I’ll try the Big breaky next time.

I was recently asked to present an eight course degustation paired with wines at Clairault Winery, Margaret River. This quintessential Margaret River winery was host to 70 diners on a perfect autumn day. The only thing missing here is the sultry sound of jazz by Michelle Spriggs and Kevin McDonald.

To keep all our belts from prolapsing, I’ve presented the degustation in segments. Enjoy part one.

[Play music]

Noodle soups are the 100 metre sprint of dining. And if a one bowl wonder is the fastest race on earth then degustations are the marathons of culinary arts.

To be at the receiving end of an eight-course procession at Clariault winery by Jone of those “watch-this-space” chefs Jake Drachenberg, is an instructive experience. Firstly, Jake insists on sourcing locally. So much so, the kitchen staff multitask as green thumbs to Clairault’s vege patch.

Clairault’s Local Degustation teed off with “Little flavours from all over” (unpictured). Sauvignon Blanc 2010 with its attentive lime-zest timbre, quelled the spicyness of the chilli-pineapple seared scallop. It was succulent and thick in the maritime juice it exudes when cauterised on a hotplate. This was part of a canapé procession: shortcrust leek tarts, beef and caramelised onion and venison rounds.

The first entrée, another quattro of flavours: salmon, occy, cuttlefish and mussel came plated in a mild acidic jus – two nipples of homemade mustard a nod to the wasabi–sashimi tradition. Each of the creatures, wickedly different in their nature, had the saltwater tang the ocean imprints. The SSB 2010 became Poseidon’s trident, commanding the dish together. Vegetal citrus SB and the steely cool edge of Sem is an easy win with seafood.

Most playfully experimental and borderline Tim Burton of the courses: Orange Brioche, chardonnay jelly with beetroot and curd. The starchy butteryness, with orange zest played off the lactic goat curd with ease. Chive flowers that exploded in alliaceous tingle, while the beetroot – sweet and earthbound – gave the dish bassey brown tones. The cube of wine jelly – the umbilical cord – a mild genuflect to the racy Estate Chardonnay 2009 of which it was paired.

The course of whiting, zaalouk (eggplant), labne (hung yoghurt) with sliced fennel and cardamom was the older sister to the entree. Yes, it was another easy win. But to have whiting so unapologetically fried with nothing but salt, on a bed of cardamom infused eggplant? Here there was dynamism, confidence and a gesture to Middle East, and with the Estate Chardonnay 2006 unfurling in the glass beside, stole the show.

[Jazz music fades]

It’s cosy, francophillic, and focuses on the company of others to entertain you. No LCD monitors playing the latest SKY broadcast here, just plain, unabandoned human interaction. The place could have been surgically removed from a Parisian corner if not for the lustrous Jarrah tables and floors which shine like spilt Burgundy.

On the other hand, I can see why some people wouldn’t like it. It has no coffee, only a handful of beers and even less Scotch (and you can forget the other spirits). And the approach to food is as canny as the reason for the choice of only just 7 wines by the glass. Keep it simple.

There is a very good reason why small bars work. Well, to begin with they’re, um, small. Size of a bar weeds out rambunctious behaviour for the same reason why we, as humans, go inexplicably silent when riding a lift full of strangers. The staff at a small bar provide efficient service because the ratio of staff to patron is higher. You get to know the staff and the exchange is mutual. It’s the same reason why you’d want to be on first-name basis with your butcher, baker or candlestick maker. Whisper’s reception is warm, casual and intellectual. It’s geared more like ‘that corner bar’ feel that you’d pay several thousand dollars on travel to experience in France.

The menu is astonishingly simple. Fresh baguette and duck pate. Marinated octopus and goats cheese. These are bold flavours that have several wine-match options. There is something provincially satisfying when you have a chalky dry white back-to-back with a liver pate and watch the street turn sepia in the sun. People travel farther to France, pay more, for less.

Whisper Wine Bar has a saucy little cellar of wines spanning very reasonably priced Australians through to cherry-picked Frenchies. You can find that eclectic trove up stairs in a glass vault, although it’s only marginally more seducing than the romantic balcony that overflows with views of Essex St.

I’d wish to see a rambling cobbled Parisian back alleyway, but you can’t have your crêpe and eat it too.

I’m a sucker for a good wine list.

It can tell a great deal about the experience and confidence the propriters have, their worldly awareness of all things vinous, and the degree of playfullness their clients have with the dollar bill.

At Lamont’s Cottesloe the carte du vin is as extensive as any cerebral bottle-shop — for it is a restaurant spliced with a fine wine store.

Set in a row of shops on Cottesloe’s Station Street, this Lamont’s is the forth incarnation by owner-chef, Kate Lamont. The vision of an enoteca, of serving wine by the glass, light meals to something substantial with an open option for cafe, came into fruition in 2008. Yes it’s a small bar, yes it’s a restaurant, and yes, it’s a winestore. The place is packed on the later days of the week with most of the movers-and-shakers of Perth.

Diners sit alongside the kitchen which stretches the length of the store — as do the wine racks — giving an involved atmosphere to the food. The dramatic face of the kitchen, with it’s many moods of the night, and gastronomic miracles woven, are for all for the viewing. You can sit behind a wall of Comte Georges de Vogue Chambolle–Musigeny and dream of drinking every bottle. This restaurant marries sense-of-place well.

Rolling with the seasons, the menu follows the cycle of years in thigh-cast ripples. It’s modern Australian in style, with no holding back on calories. Winter had the standout dishes of duck arancini and venison chorizo. Oh, and the memory of the pork rillette — my liver just got hard thinking about it. They’re full-flavoured, provincal-esque, and laconically satisfying.

The dining experience overall — each time I’ve been there — has been great.

It’s what you’d expect from the restaurant in Cottesloe and surrounds. And it’s what you’d expect to pay.

The thought struck me the other day while walking through Subiaco, how things are falling into place. Initially they started off slowly, like the trajectory of the sun in summer, but we do get there in the end. I also thought, it’s often the people who hold the doors open for us, or show us the way, that we get to where we are wanting to. I wanted to add this category of “People who inspire me”, to acknowledge people in my life who have been influential. Thank You.

Larry Cherubino

There are few people in possession of a palate as acute, or a business mind as savvy. Combine the two, and it’s no surprise that Larry has won the coveted title of James Halliday’s ‘Winery of the Year 2011′. In a parallel of wine tasting worlds, Matt Skinner also named him ‘Producer of the Year’ in his annual 2011 wine guide. Larry has travelled the world making wines in USA, France, Italy and New Zealand, and knows what works to the enth degree.

I had the opportunity of interviewing Larry for SPICE magazine back in Winter 2008. We talked, ‘why he chose to settle in Frankland River’, the upcoming grape varieties, and the environmental future of Great Southern Region. Every answer was impressive, showing a tender thought process involved. Larry gave me the opportunity to work alongside him, helping out in communications. Doors have opened to other places.

Larry’s perceptive intensity shows in his work. His wine range Ad Hoc, The Yard and Cherubino all respectively over-deliver on price, are smartly dressed packages, and have a single vineyard focus. The latter is an important issue to ensure Australia’s export and domestic market doesn’t suffer from becoming an amorphous vinous multi-regional punch.

He’s leading the way with a new philosophy for the way things are done in the vineyard and winery.

And it looks to be a raging success.

There are few restaurants you can go to along the coast on a swelly Sunday morning in winter and get a decent fast-breaker.

The cafes and restaurants along West Coast Drive in the Northern Suburbs have priceless vistas that curve along the blue horizon.

It is often just the view as a lure, to enjoy a Sunday brunch, that most people frequent these establishments.
Usually the desultory staff (who would otherwise be off chasing a few sets in the surf) are there to greet you, take your order, and deliver your equally desultory food. They would then stare nonchalantly as you let them know your coffee was burnt, and the eggs were still runny. Sound familiar? Perhaps because you have not been to Voyage.

Voyage Kitchen and Delicatessen is one of the best places to eat along West Coast Drive.

It’s next to a conspicuous petrol station of the recently misadventured BP, and you have to look around the back parking lot for a vacancy on any given Sunday. It’s a place that I’ve driven past many times, not even considering to dine there.

The cafe is set into a building complex, so ample natural light can penetrate into the darker interior. There are many tables and chairs — a hotchpotch — long benches, large tables and smaller dining ensembles. The space appears concise and vibrant when it’s packed to the rafters. By all appearances, it’s the quintessential beach-side eatery. The thing that demarcates it from the rest of the dining wannabes  however, is the precision of how it’s managed. We arrived late on a Sunday morning (regretfully didn’t book), but we were promptly tended to, seated on a large share table (with the prospect of snapping up another table when it became free). The staff were bright and attentive, asking if everyone was ready to order, and suggested a coffee to start.

The rest of the scenario panned out like this:

1) we saw a table was free within 5 min of being seated anyway and asked our wait staff.
2) 5 min later we were seated at the said table (wiped), also with an ice bucket and champagne glasses we also had requested (for the Cava we brought), and the coffees delivered.
3) within a comfortable 10 min we had ordered our meals.

A hiccup of the morning, one of us ordered Eggs Benedict ‘well done’. They arrived runny. We sent it back with no fuss from the waiter, and new one arrived soon after.

All things considered, these guys were under the pump. They would have turned the tables over at least twice that busy sunday, so I suppose my point here is to show, a job well done.

I’m not going to write about the food (as a quick search on urbanspoon will confirm how good it is). Best casual brekky thus far. Quality ingredients go a long way.

The Cava also went down a treat, and topped off a boozy Sunday brunch.

Segura Viudas Reserva Heredad [Pedenès, Spain]

Light, floral, citrus with a fine chalk-like structure. Not overtly complex, but some lusciousness of autolysis character just popping though, more evident as the wine warmed up from 10c. The crunchy acidic core compliments most of what is going on over the nose, it’s a style of Cava made according to méthode champenoise, that is approachable from many angles — visually for starters.

Perhaps it’s remiss to mention it here, but the first thing I notice about Zekka — aside from the modern rusted laser-cut signage; aside from the hand-illustrated shop-long mural, and aside from the snazzy fashion on display — is a penisless cardboard mannequin 1.5 times the size of a normal humanoid.

He They It stands at the entrance, gawking out of the cafe to King St beyond.

Zekka is an edgy, fringe, avant-garde fashion outlet that houses some serious brands I’ve never even heard of.

I haven’t shopped there myself (perhaps sometime in the future), but I do come for the coffee.

The cafe occupies a similar space as the fashion outlet, however it is less edgy and more minimal and a helluva lot more functional.

Zekkacafe is found at the rear of the store which opens up high into the urban environment, the lighting is reflected by the buttresses of buildings. Its an airy column of brick and mortar– good for soaking up the thermal mass of summer, but more like a conduit for breeze in winter.

As you would expect, the cafe does all its own cakes and glass cabinet goodies, light lunches and the like — nothing too serious.

The (coffee) prices are what you would expect in Perth ($3–4), and the quality is worth going back for.

They use Crema (thanks everyone for letting me know!) and Avon Valley Milk.

This time of the year, because of the greener pastures, the milk is sweet.

Don’t believe me?

Order a milk-based coffee without sugar and you’ll be pleasantly surprised.

I’d recommend this place if you’re after a little get-away from burning up the CC on King St or having your office cubicle close further around you. Respite time? It’s perfect.

The space is quite unusual and the coffee is tops — a spirited rival to Tiger Tiger for the best cup in town.

My 2 cents? They don’t have a small bar license. Pity.

(08) 9481 1772
Perth City
74 King St
Perth, 6000

Now I’m not a fan of commercial TV.

Adverts on the box always treat you like you’re some cash-fisted supreme moron.
In fact we don’t even have a TV. Not that we’re book-loving, net-surfing troglodytes anymore than we are sun-loving, real surfing,  socialites.

Like promise of dusting the bike off and riding a lung-bursting 100km, or getting oil paint so forced into your dermal layers you may as well be embalmed for the afterlife, life is an amazing place — to explore. With all that said, I have a confession to make.

I am a Master Chef fetishist.

No, not in that way.

I don’t ogle at the contestants nor any of the judges. Believe me, the sight of an overweight cravat-strangled crusty englishman, expressive as an anaesthetised bloodhound, is not my idea of romantic delirium. However, the dishes are.

I blame it on dinner at my old folks. They have the telly on Sunday night, eating dinner that was inspired from the week before. We’re there and we tune in. Food is central to any family. To see my mother’s cooking style change over time to something that is more experimental and edgy, is humbling. Every kitchen utensil has been replaced with tender detail to the functional and effective. The influence of good food has penetrated thanks to MasterChef.

Along with MasterChef comes events that expose people to good food. For a while now the Good Food and Wine Show have been running annual show-stage for everyone in the state.

So it’s no surprise this event will bring together en masse . The Good Food and Wine Show at Perth Convention Exhibition Centre will showcase gourmet creations like a shiny cabinet of curiosities.

From 2nd–4th July 2010 show up to wallow your way though the flavours of your dreams. And you won’t need to skip the adds.

Prices

Adults $30

Child (6-16) $22

Concession/Groups (10+) $24

Wine Lovers Ticket $75