melbourne

A Real Slow Food Weekend

~ maireaddoyle ~ 2 Comments

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Never mind A Taste of Slow, this weekend I did things my way.

For once I got up early enough to get to Victoria Market at a reasonable hour. Still suffering from my cold, I didn’t delay, but headed straight for my favourite local winery stall to stock up on shiraz. Davd from Candlebark Hill winery chatted about famous people (he traded his story about Tim Spall for mine about Sir Ian McKellen). Six bottles better off, I wandered back through the throngs to my own local market in Footscray.

There I bought some beautiful pork belly from the Vietnamese butcher, and some diced beef. At the fishmongers I chose a nice slab of fresh tuna (which I froze when I got home for later in the week) and threw in a kilo of fresh sardines as they looked so lovely.

Back at home, I realised that the sardines would need gutting before we could eat them. Orlando vaguely remembered how, from his aunt Gloria, and after a brief instruction session I set to. Fifteen minutes later I had a big bowl of fish guts and 22 tiny butterfly fillets.

I remembered my chilli chutney from the Taste of Slow market, and combined it with garlic and lime for the marinade. I grilled the sardines lightly and we polished them off for lunch with some fresh bread.

It didn’t take long to prepare the spices for my favourite Rick Stein recipe for crispy pork belly. You have to leave the meat resting in the spices for a day or so before cooking so I got that organised after the washing up.

While I was at it, I cleaned out and re-filled my trusty masala dhaba. From the top, we have lemon pepper, black mustard seeds, cloves and cardamoms, garam masala, turmeric, chilli powder, and finally szechuan peppercorns in the centre. Pretty, isn’t it?

Then I took a nap.

Next day, I spent the afternoon on the sofa watching a remake of South Pacific, with a proper old-fashioned box of Milk Tray chocolates on my lap and a blanket over me. It took almost five hours to cook the pork belly to perfection and less than twenty minutes to devour it.

Now, that’s what I call a slow food weekend.

Donovan’s

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Early spring is the perfect time to catch cold. I was smothering, and a little brain-dead, at the beginning of the weekend as I braved gale-force winds to drive across town for a family dinner. We owed Lee a posh dinner and she had chosen Donovan’s as her treat.

We sat by the window as the wind howled and the waves crashed on the shore just feet from our table. Donovan’s feels as if you are visiting somebody’s cosy home: bookcases line the walls, the tables and chairs are mismatched, and the russet colours are a far cry from the minimalist decor so many trendy places go for.

Wines by the glass were limited but well-chosen. Lee and Orlando selected sparkling wines whilst I went for a local red, Amherst ‘Dunn’s Paddock’ Shiraz 2004, from the Goldfield region about 100 miles from our house. I still love the fact that I live in a country which has local wine.

Every morsel was divine. My seafood chowder was augmented by slivers of prosciutto, giving it an amazing saltiness. The heavy sour-dough bread was served with olive oil infused with parmesan and basil. My seafood linguine was simply the very best I have ever had.


How I found space for dessert I will never know. Three Sweet Things served with my coffee were a tiny a square of passionfruit cheesecake, a home-made jammy dodger biscuit and a minute chocolate brownie. Sounds like comfort food, but again, all the best I have ever tasted.

40 Jacka Boulevard St Kilda www.donovanshouse.com.au

Abla’s

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>Abla’s is a bit of institution in Melbourne, reputed to be one of the oldest Lebanese restaurants in Australia. Able herself was born in Lebanon in 1935, and emigrated to Australia as a seventeen year old girl. During her young married life in Melbourne, she was taught to cook by the other women in the close-knit Lebanese community, as well as her uncle Joe. Abla’s restaurant opened in 1979, in a terraced house in Carlton, and has been there ever since.

Inside, the restaurant still looks and feels like a house. Tables for two and four nestled downstairs near the kitchen, but they had put our rowdy table for thirteen upstairs in the open-plan area. It still felt like two bedrooms knocked into one.

We had ordered the banquet, so the food started coming as soon as the last person arrived. The white linen tablecloth was littered with wine (Abla’s is BYO) as dishes of hummous, baba ganoush, and delicious think yoghurt came accompanied with flat Turkish bread. We tried not to fill up on bread but everything was so enticing.

Soon the starters arrived: bright green tabbouleh, falafels and silverbeet leaves wrapped around chickpeas and rice. the ladies’ fingers were not okra, but sigar-shaped parcels of minced lamb, pine nuts and spices. Mena’s favourite was the loubyeh, simple green beans tossed in a tangy tomato sauce.

The wine flowed and the conversation got louder. My wine bottle was emptying fast, and it was not my doing. The platters emptied one at a time, and we were wondering if we had space left when the main courses were served.

Chicken and rice was served beautifully, the chicken forming a crust around a mound of fragrant rice pilaff and almonds. The lamb skewers were perfectly grilled.

No dessert as such, just strong coffee served with the most divine Turkish delight and home-made baclawa.

As the evening drew to an end, Abla herself strolled from table to table, making sure to talk to each and every diner in her restaurant. Dressed in her utilitarian pinny she looked like a regular Melbournelady of a certain age, not the legend she is. She graciously stood for a photo with myself and Noela as we thanked her for a lovely evening.

It really did feel like you had gone to your aunty’s for dinner: great food, wonderful service, engaging conversation with new people, and a chat with Abla at the end of the night. We shall be back.

Pellegrini’s

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They say Pellegrini’s has had one paint job in over fifty years, and it left the place looking exactly the same. I wandered in there one cold Monday night, walking the length of its 1950s bar to the cosy kitchen at the back. The red leather barstools are comfortable enough for a weekday lunchtime or an afternoon macchiato and slice of apple strudel, but the dark evenings make the big communal kitchen table beckon.

There is no menu as such; an old wood veneer menu hangs from the ceiling above the bar. It lists a handful of dishes but there are no prices. Over time you get to know the daily specials – spinach and ricotta cannelloni makes a guest appearance on Tuesdays and gnocchi cameos on Fridays. The waiters charge you whatever they like, but it is always great value.

I sat with a man and his young son to one side of me, and the owner himself on the other, trademark silk kerchief at his neck, apparently being interviewed for an article. The young boy chatted comfortably to the woman at the cooker about his recently deceased pet rabbit, while she cooked him his “usual” and taught him a few more words of Italian.

The cooker was simmering with pots of bolognese and napoli sauces whilst the oven opened briefly to display an enormous lasagne. The cook lady turned out plates of pasta ordered in shouted Italian from the bar beyond, whilst seeming to talk away to herself in between times (in Italian too, so I couldn’t eavesdrop).

My plate of steaming ravioli bolognese came with two freshly buttered doorsteps of bread and a cold glass of water. No alcohol here in Pellegrini’s, but the food is good enough to entice me to eat even without a glass of red in my hand. When asked, the lady happily heaped lots more parmesan onto my already loaded plate from her bowl by the cooker.

I ate slowly, taking in the surroundings. An ancient poster of the Chianti region and an old advertisement for Besana pannetonni adorned the walls, darkened by years of grease and heat. Beyond a hatch in the wall the bar was half-full of diners but it felt sleepier than daylight hours. The oak table was about eight inches thick, and the stools about an inch too low for it. The forks were bent and the white crockery dull and chipped in places, but my supper was sublime.

Later, as I sipped my long macchiato, the cook lady silently left her position at the cooker and came back with a saucer of home-made biscuits for me. I dunked them in my sweet coffee, feeling even more at home. They didn’t charge me for them.

St. Kilda

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>Stokehouse, 30 Jacka Boulevard, St. Kilda
www.stokehouse.com.au
The Stokehouse is a bit of a Melbourne institution, located right by the water on the St. Kilda beachfront. Downstairs is casual dining and drinks, with an outdoor terrace – great for anytime of the day or night. We used to come here when I had no money and sit for hours over a coffee, watching the St. Kilda people roller-blading by. Upstairs is fine dining, with similar spectacular views across the bay.

Soul Mama, St. Kilda Sea Baths, Jacka Boulevard, St. Kilda
www.soulmama.com.au
Great vegetarian food and fantastic cocktails, with spectacular views across the bay.

Café Tien Tien, 217 Barkly Street, St. Kilda
A wonderful Chinese/Singaporean restaurant with a great wine list and fascinating décor including a genuine Buddhist shrine. Food is beautifully presented and service is impeccable.

Chinta Ria Soul, 92 Acland Street, St. Kilda
This is the first Malaysian restaurant I ever visited, and my niece had to order for me! The food blew me away the first time, and every time since. The music is laid-back, and you don’t have far to fall to find a great cake shop for dessert afterwards.

Café Barcelona, 25 Fitzroy St., St Kilda
They say the food isn’t completely authentic, but it’s still delicious. Sit on the sidewalk and sip a sangria and let them bring you a parade of tapas as you watch the world go by. (but check out my more recent review for a cautionary tale)

Vineyard, 71A Acland St., St Kilda
It’s a bit of a see-and-be-seen spot, but a truly democratic crowd from locals to backpackers to people just off the beach. Modern Australian food, a decent winelist and buzzy atmosphere.

Cicciolina, 130 Acland St., St Kilda
A Melbourne institution, Cicciolina’s is reputed to be the best Italian restaurant in Melbourne. Owned and run by women, this cosy restaurant is the favourite eatery of many of Melbourne’s biggest chefs – and I guess they know their stuff. The back bar is where Melbourne’s finest wait for their (unbookable) table, and the wine list is legendary.

Mr. Wolf, 9-15 Inkerman St, St Kilda
We ate here one very hot Melbourne Sunday with friends who have just moved in to a new town house across the road from this bar/restaurant. As as result the place was deserted, most people having fled to the beach. Secondly the air-conditioning had not been adjusted accordingly so by the end of our meal I was fast approaching frostbite. That said, the pizzas were light and delicious. Toppings such as the Signore Lupo (roast tomato, roast cauliflower, mozzarella, sausage, pancetta and chilli) and the Patate (potato, taleggio, parmigiano and rosemary) make for innovative dining, and the wine list is decent enough too.

East of Town

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Café Sienna, 402 Chapel Street, Prahran
No visit to Chapel Street would be complete without lunch at a café watching all the Melbourne beautiful people going by. Where better than Café Sienna – if there is nobody interesting walking past you can always watch the clientele… lunchtimes bring a mix of drug dealers, students and rich girls. Caeser salad is pretty good too.

Botanical, 169 Domain Rd South Yarra
www.thebotanical.com.au
Botanical’s recent transformation is complete – with its style and exceptional food making it the Good Food Guide Restaurant of the Year 2004 and Best Wine List 2005. According to their website, the Bubble Bar at the Botanical is the perfect place to take somebody if you wish to seduce them!

Thy Thy 1, 142 Victoria Street, Richmond
“Bloody good cheap grub” is how somebody once described this great local restaurant, upstairs above the shops on Victoria Street. Service is efficient in this slice of Vietnam right in the middle of Melbourne. You won’t get to linger all night – or even have a table to yourself – but the food is worth it every time.