Tannic Teeth

We all know the sense of jealous proprietary, when, after a few months of opening, your “little discovery” becomes the next best thing in town.

It all depends on the location, accessibility, and how much the operators are willing to risk attracting the average passer-by verses a word-of-mouth allure. Helvetica is a reclusive example of a you-must-know-where-you’re-going-to-find-us formula. Five Bar was never in my radar of jealous proprietary—I had discovered it far too late.

Five bar has the unapologetic location of Beautfort St, Mt Lawley. Two doors down from Clarances—judging by the Saturday night queue to get in—they’re the new kids on the block.

From first glance it is a roomy dimly lit space. There appears to be the contemporary design standard of exposed industrial meets muted Rococo couches. Animal hides and black and white photography make it an interesting zone. The abundance of hard surfaces in Five make it a cacophonous chamber when patrons limber in alcoholic excitement. You have to scream. (Though I’m sure the acoustics are different mid week when it’s not brimming with people.)

Upon entering the staff greeted and gave us the run down. We were one of the hopefuls that snagged a corner couch and the wait staff serviced us there. This service experience was intuitively effective. No vying for bartender attention—couch service is where it’s at.

We opted for the three cheese platter which was reasonable in size and quality. While no cheese expert, the sharp cheddar was a stand out followed by the blue and then the soft rind Camembert. Not sure what the intention was with providing three napkins and knives when four people were dining, but it made it slightly awkward. The bread provided with the platter was curious in that it crumbed like a commercial tip-top loaf  (a light and almost rice-bready texture). I’m not saying it was that, but yeah, it was an easy and perilously close observation. Less curious was the Pedro Ximinez I paired with the cheese—linear and ir-rancio. I suppose knowing the two local acts Talijancich or Kosovich—both deft in Swan Valley fortifieds—I’d be temped to represent WA.

Five Bar has a definite focus of beers and ciders and there is a overall message to the patrons to “try me” of different beers. It feels like a clean-cut grown-up version of a beer/cider drinkers pub.

It’s worth trying if you’re partial to couch service and boutique beers.

Subiaco Farmers Market is about as bloomingly luscious and ephemerally delicious as markets come in Perth.

True to her east coast roots, Misshandmaid even accepted these markets to be of “East Coast Quality” (albeit a little smaller) and that “she’d be happy to bring her mother here”.

I suppose the formula is simple.

Tee up a place where real farmers can sell their wares, have food producers who define their existence as careerists, and make it accessible to all ages and has a local music act.

It sounds like a utopianistic foodies wonderland, but by the looks of it, it works well.

Like most good-food meccas there is a often one astrally remote concept not broached by any vendor.

Cooking.

Simply put, “I’m going to show you what you can do with this produce you can buy over there”. And not peddle some mad eclectic assortment of peeling implements which slice tomato to three microns.*

Brock Bethune, head chef at George’s Meze was at the Subiaco Farmers Market for the past three weeks doing nothing but educating the public on roasting spice blends, slow cooking whole baby goat, and making lamb taste like only the Greeks know how. I feel most people walked away with a smouldering desire to try something new in the kitchen. I did.

I liked the concept, which I believe is the missing link at Farmers Markets. Why do we all love watching cooking shows?

Empowering people with the possibility of creating, is more enduring than pushing a brand or product. Keen participants even received a fearsome slice Kefalograviera to make Saganaki or roasted spice blends to take home and fool their friends by their culinary prowess.

This roundabout way of education has made me keen to venture to the restaurant. You don’t often see chefs happily giving away their produce and in some ways I think the face-to-flavour will have an impact on people’s minds. George’s Meze won’t be there next week though, it was just a three week trial, but I reckon it was a success. Local restaurants, read this as “invaluable PR”.

*If you’d like to see some of the mad eclectic peeling implements I’ve referred to which slice tomato to three microns then head down to the Good Food and Wine Show this weekend. 15–17 July, Convention Centre Perth. I have two free tickets to give away. Message me on twitter and you’ve got them.

Every Saturday at Subiaco Primary School, 271 Bagot Road, Subiaco

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]

I know it’s a sycophantic real estate agent’s phrase but — location, location, location.

Sure, it’s a ‘partially obstructed view’ but it’s also a ‘fixer-upper’ that’s ‘freeway close’. In other words, you’re pretty sure the house has a view of the neighbours fence, more-or-less has four walls a roof and a floor, but also the fact the sound of traffic will soothe you to sleep each night — it’s a first homebuyers dream!

I can only imagine the kind of fluff the real estate agents were blossoming during the sale of the lease here. But enough about real estate. Food time.

I suppose the preface above was to highlight a place that, beyond the threshold of the cafe, seems at odds with the surroundings (or maybe not?). Pearfect Pantry it’s called. Complete with the kawaii misspelling.

The Pantry’s food is modern Australian with all kinds of curious adventures occuring beyond the IKEA Expedit used divide cafe and kitchen. Savoury goats cheese and fig tart, chicken and bacon baked risotto, white chocolate and blueberry cupcakes. The list could be a stock-ticker at the bottom of a foodies’ thoughts.

The shelf holds jumbo bibliothèque enough to make any chef touretically intense. This is where the kitchen plucks recipes and pulls them together under no real Ramseyesque theatrics.

This cafe is of the same league you’d find along Beaufort and Oxford St except it’s a little cheaper, and you have to travel from the city core. Yahava is the coffee poured and while I haven’t had a knee-bucklingly good brew, I haven’t had an immolated one either.

It’s that maxim — location, location, location.

I’ve been there to see an ad hoc approach to feeding afternoon tummy-rumbles. Another batch of muffins crust out of their cases because the last ones ‘went like hotcakes’.

Pearfect has a shabby-chic direction in its feel, with the decor appearing as though it was convincingly taken from curb-side collection. Unmatched plates, IKEA coffee mugs, old chairs that creakily struggle with normal loads.

The cafe is located in the complex of Moondyne Gardens. The 1970s monolithic brown-bricked housing complexes that flank the cafe, are either ecstasy or doom depending on how like your architecture.

Walk past the bore-stained signage, past the equally as old, bore-stained laundrobar and your nose will probably pick up a heavenly concoction underway at the pantry.

Has pearfect potential.

Whisper wine bar is my kind of (wine)bar.

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.

Perhaps I’m deluded in thinking there is some nobility in doing a Perth summer without aircon.

Yep. We don’t have one, and I’m reminded just how sweltering it can be in a small (rented) townhouse when the temperature soars above 40 and spiders die on the west-facing wall.

I guess you could say I’m tight in refusing to buy a small evaporative aircon unit, but I really can’t see the point as the (town)house is so poorly insulated that filling a room with a desirable 16C zephyr will be all but eradicated. And even then, come the afternoon, when the Fremantle doctor breezes though Perth, it’s bearable enough to open the house. So really you’re spending a lot of energy (and money) on cooling something that will eventually be lost. I can understand if your house was designed with an energy conscious mind: have double glazed windows, reflective blinds etc, then you’d get more efficiency from running a said unit.

Given that most of the houses in Perth are appallingly designed to maximise heating/cooling efficiency, where does that leave those (like us) who don’t want to Bikram conditions, but CBF wasting money on a crappy aircon unit?

Fans.

Then you mosey on down to a department store to find a quality fan. Let me tell you, finding a quality fan is as hard as finding an energy efficient townhouse. So a bit of research, on design, quality, build brought me to an American brand of fan called Vornado. I know the name and marketing is dorky (and so is the box it comes in), but by-gees it’s a good fan! The model that caught my eye, the Vornado VF20 is a re-jigged replica of the very model released by the company in the 1940s. Sleek all steel construction, double-cone inlet, and deep pitched propeller blades speak volumes of the insightful design. You can feel the solid construction — this fan is quality.

Operating at full-bore it chews up only 29 watts, 26 watts on medium and 20 watts when it purrs on low. It can be tilted directly upwards, though it doesn’t have a oscillate function. Vornado’s website suggests this is because it’s less of a fan and more an air circulator. By moving air in summer or winter, you reduce heat gradients that naturally occur, reducing heating/cooling costs. Simply aim the fan to the farthest point of the room and it circulates enough air for you to reconsider running aircon in summer. But at $239 (not what I paid online, but RRP) it’s not an easy sale, especially when you can get a simple, plastic pedestal fan for $30.

Weighing up the option of a small (evaporative) aircon unit, which will:

1. only be efficient when the humidity is low,

2. require a constant flow of dry air (so as to remain efficient) — hence an open window letting in warm air somewhere in the house (thus more-or-less negating the aircon in the first place),

3. use 1000+ watts of energy,

4. only really needs to be used on 35C plus days, (but when the Freo doctor comes in, it’s therefore more eco-nomical to turn it off)…

… it was obvious the fan was a better year-round purchase.

We bought this thinking that if the fan was a dud in some way, it’ll still look dapper as a 60-year-old curio does on a shelf.

So impressed we were, we now have two.

Gourmet Burger Bars.
Ah yes, they’re taking over the lions share of wherever ‘the burgers are better’ and where you’re ‘lovin it’.

For too long we have been subjected to mass produced, paltry, mechanised and formulaic meat between two buns. Now we’re spoilt for choice, we quibble over whether Jus is superior over Flipside,  and who has the best chippies.

Another bar-raisingly fine example can be found at 400 South Terrace Fremantle (corner of Harbour Road). This child-friendly, playful, never-never land of burgers and chips is one of Perth’s newer burger joints.

Missy Moos shares the (South Terrace) strip in Freo that is still in its cafe strip infancy, and bodes well for parking (conveniently at the rear of shop) as parking in Freo is always a hassle.

On the chalk board you’ll find nursery-rhyme character-named beef , chicken, and vege burgers. And what self respecting burger bar in Freo would be devoid of fish? Yep, it’s here too.

I opted for the “Humpty Dumpty” beef burger with pineapple, beetroot, free range egg, Margaret River tomato relish and baby spinach. The burger meat was very good quality and the chargrilled pineapple put an interesting spin on things. Using Jus as a reference point, it’s a clear tie for ingredients except the buns. It’s not that they were like those sugary Tip Top abominations that can be compressed to a small puck, but they just didn’t have the killer edge which Jus has. I like good buns — I’ll leave it at that. Speaking of killer edges, do all burger bars have a thing about impaling burgers?

The Perth gourmet burger standard is high, so really, what becomes the deciding factor?

Price, in my book.

In that regard, then it was good [value for money]. Not jaw-droppingly brilliant, not border-line OK, just good. The atmosphere is open and casual.

Missy Moos is working on a formula that is fail-safe, post-GFC and anti-global — local, fresh ingredients, local family, local customers. Wholesome food, family-first, casual dining.

Who would have ever thought?  The big boys must be squirming under their crowns and golden arches.