Parlour wine room (June 2009)
A moment of panic, “Bugger” I thought, but exteriorly remained unchanged, slightly tired, pallid. “Sure, we should find somewhere, it is after all Saturday night and we’re in Canberra”
Canberra, if not the centre of the gastronomic stage, in sight of it; toward the back maybe, slightly off to the side, sure, with a pillar obscuring part of the view but we’re close and keen. Main problem is our guest, a globetrotter with deep pockets, eats quiet widely and well, to say the least.
Recently on her enviable list: In England, Fat Duck and St John, “love the place we’re there all the time, you should come (Sure)”; Aria and Tetsuya’s “He’s divine, next week we should go (ditto)” in Sydney.
So, again “Bugger” I can think of many places to go that won’t have her thinking “Where the hell am I, a bad night in Kabul?” but most will be full because everyone knows they’re good. So we head in, desperately ringing through the to-do file titled “Where to impress someone” It’s not a big document, sadly.
The story turns out well, we get two chairs and a poof at Parlour wine room, cocktails and snacks turn into Rioja and degustation.
The entire Newacton pavilion and Diamonte hotel have this modern slightly eccentric look, with retro-Canberra background. Relief she loves it, next time she’ll set up digs here rather than a wing at the Hyatt. That old song by Charlene “I’ve never been to me” rings through the head, you know the one “Hey lady, you lady, cursing at your life..”
Parlour is full with a young crowd, alas most crowds outside the pokie room or funeral home look young now, has a timeless cosmopolitan feel, you wouldn’t be surprised if Peter Sellers and Capucine strolled in.
It’s a laid back rambling lounge room look, no set seating plan just find something to sit on – comfy leather chairs; lounges; ottomans, that’s the PC for a poof – and order a bottle of wine from Travis’ impressive worldly list, particularly Spain which goes with the food. Modern Tapas, yum!
Reclining, gracefully, over my low, square, backless chair, you get a good view. Order taken in a slightly biblical fashion with staff genuflecting before us, I guess the chairs are low, but I feel the need to state “You have me confused, child, but what troubles you” It’s a friendly method that fits in with the surrounds.
Food is ‘tapas’ format, basically something you could balance on the side of a glass, it fits the degustation mode, which we opt for $50.00 each, $80 paired with wine
First a soup that wasn’t really delivered with much conviction “Here we have a goat soup with, ahh, goat cheese goat and goat” something like that, I whispered “I think it’s goat”. Turns out to be a consommé, yes, slightly goaty but more brothy, with a feta foam resembling a cappuccino and here the “froth” adds to the dish, softening. Very good, warming, concentrated, just needing some marketing conviction and a glass of Amontillado.
After this we each get three long platters with three different tapas. Each a delicate expression of flavour and taste, there’s a real finesse to these morsels, obvious care and flair from the kitchen matched by an interesting food friendly wine list.
Not wanting to burden you or the editor with a great big list, here’s some highlights:
Vieiras – a plump, snowy white scallop topped with cauliflower salsa giving a slight earthy crunch to the slippery mollusc, with an anisette spike from tarragon.
El Pescado – Kingfish, sliced thin, salt cured with a crust of Moorish spices as in the Shakespearean “I took by the throat the uncircumcis-ed dog, and smote him thus…” Moor, opposed to “Wouldn’t mind some more of that”. A brilliant look at this fish, prefect, fresh salty flavour enhanced and served with tangy pickled fennel, simple, fresh produce shining through, again an intriguing and welcome anisette boost.
Col de Brusels – yep, the kids favourite brassica, Brussel sprouts, cooked appropriately, textured up with crisp prosciutto and spiced with cayenne. You either love them or loath them. When cooked like this, fully but still slightly crunchy, excellent.
Cerdo Lacado – Smarmy, in a word, pigs belly cooked not once but twice with coriander, fried shallot and this delicious plate-licking sauce made with PX, a super sweet Spanish wine from the grape, Pedro Ximénez (see, PX is easier to remember). I reckon you could line these up and chug them, they slip down so easily, soft and rich, as I say unctuous, they’re the bomb.
To cleanse the palate, which is, as an understatement, well coated, tomato sorbet with basil sugar, wow, it enlivens the mouth, a real flavour explosion, refreshed we could go another round.
Our Rioja by the way, after a good decant, shows why Spanish wine, as well as food and lifestyle, is slaying everyone in the aisles. Moving past the rustic beverage tasting for the world like licking a horse’s saddle from the underside after a long canter to super slick, modern expressions.
Valenciso riserva 2002 from Alta Rioja, is a stunning wine; complex berry and cola overtones with richness and intensity, balanced acid, tight-as-a-duck’s-bum oak and fine tannins. At $89.00 not necessarily cheap but for the concentration a bargain, well met. I’d ring up first and have them decant the bottle 3 hours before, as it is just starting to open and reveal itself as we fight over the last drop, considering another bottle, distance and coppers.
It’s a different experience on offer here, not the usual bolt upright, three courses, tip and leave. The relaxed yet professional charm is the point of difference, with exciting booze and brilliant food, Parlour is more than your average outing, it’s a lifestyle choice, as Rosalind would say, “Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing”
Parlour wine room 16 Kendell lane Newacton Pavilion, Tel 6162 3656 www.parlour.net.au Tuesday – Sunday, no BYO, all cards except diners 15/20
Canberra Times, June, 2009
Waking with Ross, Liver and Hendrix (October 2009)
Where does all the time go? Did you know, I ask with certain rhetoric, that it is my schools 30th reunion?
Being a pretty tough sort of place out in Canberra’s suburban extremities, I have no doubt that the other graduates, we’re talking year 10 here by the way, are survivors. They would have made it through the Titanic’s ordeals. It was always the teachers that I have thought most about, how did they fare?
I’m sure educators gauge their success on many parameters; ASAT’s, UAE’s etc but ours, I’m sure, thought it a pretty good day if the desks and chairs didn’t get thrown out the window.
Hard to keep track of all the changes really, you blink and ten years are gone. Hair is one sign; first it was long all over, then long at the back, long at the front through the terrible eighties and now it just seems to grow horizontally and grey out of the ears.
Music is another sign of change. I used to cling to alternate channels, even staying with JJJ when they went national and more commercial. I’d yell, over the distinctive sound of the Chilli peppers, to my girlfriend then fiancé then wife “I’ll never stop listening to this, never get caught in the past, n-e-v-e-r!”
Not sure when it happened, the music started to not make sense, a bit loud and kinda scary. They look strange too, I was idly going through my daughter’s internet history and noted her posters. Has anyone told the guys from the likes of Short Stack that they are buying their strides from the wrong side of Just Jeans?
Now, like most other boomers in Canberra, although technically I’m not but fail to fit into any other generation, I wake to the warm embrace of Ross Solly’s meanderings on ABC 666. I smile, sleepily, when he relentlessly plays Steve Miller, the Police and Jackson Brown but ever so sadly, shed a small tear for lost youth.
Now, to change the subject, there are many things that look good in large groups: Trees, they always look impressive, long rows of whispering casurinas are so mesmerizing; likewise the girls from the Next top model franchise, that the family seems to watch relentlessly, have a certain ease in which to look at.
One thing that doesn’t look good en-mass is a sink full of lamb’s livers, which is what I am staring down the barrel of presently. I am used to having lots of different food items dropped off each weekend, some requested, many not. Jeff, the culprit here, is playing some sort of game to see what I won’t touch. If my counting is correct seven lambs have come to an end this weekend, the brains are here too, but that’s for another day.
They weren’t alone, the last vestiges of a calf, about 9 months judging by the size of its adrenal gland “Kids, come and have a look at this”
Seven livers is quite a lot, I’d say enough iron here to rebuild the Titanic so I end up giving it away while departing guests aren’t looking. “Here’s your wine, your olive oil, how about a bit of sausage, andheresaliverbye”
Here’s a dish that I have been eating for well over 30 years, one of the many in the arsenal my mum would cook for us seven children and god knows how many ring ins. She has this ability to produce enormous quantities of food from almost nothing. In the fridge would be a kilo of mince, a tomato and an onion, one hour later she’d be able to feed 20.
What we are looking at is a good old fashioned Lamb fry up, you need half a liver, 300g of bacon, 1 onion, some beef chipolatas, giving us a neat triumvirate of meats, plus some common, if not forgotten, cupboard items.
Dust the thin sliced liver in flour and gently pan fry this in butter, remove. In same fat give the snags some colour, again remove. Add some more butter, and fry the onion and bacon, once this is all sizzling away having given up any water, stir in a tablespoon of flour. Cook this, scraping up the caramelised bits, until you get some nutty colours, deglaze with a splash of red wine.
Add liquid, in order of preference: Brown stock, white stock, water. Return the trio of meats and simmer. Now there are many potential adds here. For colour we can use, like my mum used to, a splash of pre-war Parisienne essence, or, to keep it Aussie a big dollop of vegemite, a squirt of tomato sauce for the sweetness Paul Kelly writes about, the same of aged balsamic for tang, salt and pepper. If you want to get all fancy some herds and minced garlic. Just gently cook this for half an hour or so. It needs a few days chilling to mature. I still open the old fridge, like all my brothers, to find this when passing by. Just reheat and slap it on toast. My, as no one else in the house will touch it, ultimate comfort food for reminiscing.
And I am going to make some changes from today, firstly the radio, sorry Ross, its going back to this new fandangled FM band to wake us up with some techno beat. I’ll leap, youthfully, out of bed with a Hendrix rift, slip on the robe and comfy socks, it’s a little chilly still, out the door to a nice cup of tea and bowl of All Bran.
Andre Rieu, WWE & Schnitzels (Oct 09)
It was decided over the toss of a coin, the chances even, my brother skipped off, the winner, not a care in the world, me, I had a date with Andre Rieu accompanying my mum, a passionate fan, later in the year. So last week we’re off on what must be the act of supreme unconditional love, I don’t know much about him but in my mind I flit between Viennese waltzing, ice sculptures and fountains. I should have insisted on best out of three.
The setting is the ever intimate Acer arena at Homebush bay, the last time I came here the crowd was somewhat different. More painted faces, black tee-shirts and big belts at the 2008 WWE knockdown. Funnily enough this crowd seems to have had more ink done and is equally as passionate and edgy.
Lining up for the check in, to reinforce the aged theme, the world masters games are one, so I’m feeling quite spritely. Ahead, a recipient of a letter from the queen, is checking in.
“ARE YOU GOING TO THE CONCERT?” the receptionist announces to western Sydney “…..Yes thanks, 5 times today” “CAN I HAVE YOUR EMAIL ADDRESS?” “…..You want my whoseywhatsitnow?”
After 20 minutes of this I get to check in “ARE YOU….” “It’s OK, no need to yell, I can hear”
So later we are installed, good seats, the crowd restless, and witness Andre’s arrival which carries the same sense of achievement, pomp and crowd reaction as Marcus Aurelius’ return from Carnumtum.
“Good evening all my friends in Ow’stralia!!!!” He announces to huge applause and I realise what happened to Michael Bolton, the accent is a bit off but surely that mane of hair can only be that of the aging fourth rider of the apocalypse “W-hen a ma-an lo-oves a ….”
At this point having only Austria and Holland to work with, you’re probably wondering how this all ties in with food, hang in there.
I have to admit, quietly, to been a bit of a convert to this totally absorbing Dutch man. There were minimal waltzes, though when they came up the mosh pit filled pretty quickly, and he seems to have taken a leaf out of Charlie Wilson’s secretarial screening with the hiring of his highly attractive string section.
Another advantage was that being one of the youngest in the audience I was able to sprint up the stairs at interval, have a tinkle, grab a beer and 30 year celebratory T-shirt before the crowds emerge.
When thinking of Austrian food, one dish towers over the many others, which all seem to involve sausage and mustard, the dish: Wiener Schnitzel…there I’ve done it.
No tricks here, everyone knows the dish, kids and Canberran clubs love it, just a few tips.
There are only two main ingredients, meat and breadcrumbs. The dish evolved from a northern Italian dish where veal is very pale. We don’t really have veal like they do in Europe, ours tends to be born first and enjoys at least 9 months of sunlight. Have the veal sliced and pounded thin. It needs to cook in a minute as the breadcrumbs crisp up. For breadcrumbs head to your nearest Asian grocer and buy Panko brand from Japan, they have this flakey texture and crisp up far better than any local brand.
So the enjoyable, joyous night, full of excellent operatic singing, ended with a Dutch drinking competition ahead of Barry Humphrey’s arrival. Over the drive up and back I have become an expert on anything to do with the man, my mum having an encyclopedic knowledge just short of a stalker. Ask me any question and I’ll know the answer; Maastricht, two, D’Artagnan……
Chook poo, house bricks @ getting fit (Oct 09)
There’s nothing like waking up early on a misty spring morning and having the senses tickled by all things country.
It’s incredibly green at the moment, good winter and spring rain has given the earth out here a greatly needed regeneration. The dry patchy, weed infested paddocks, another of those jobs you can never get to, are now full fence to fence with all manner of grass, you can hear them sequestering carbon as we speak.
The stock should be happy too. I cannot see our little flock of misfits but they’re out there somewhere in the four foot deep grass, clinging to the hope of finding one another.
Time for some exercise to get the old bod into the usual svelte summer shape that has the lady’s gasping with amazement and slight jealousy: a few stretches…..left….right; touch the tttttknees…
Now for some deep breathing “Yeh” I say to myself “That’s a hearty country smell” Its intense, earthy, slightly uriec. The 20 tonnes of chicken manure we just finished spreading around the vineyards is all pervading. Everything smells of it and alive, you get some strange looks picking the kids up from school but this smells like potential.
Reminds me of Kilgore’s quote in Apocalypse Now. “Do you smell that? It’s naplma son, nothing in the world smells like it, I love the smell of napalm in the morning…”
The pile of manure didn’t come from my half dozen Isa Browns, they’re pretty proficient pooers, but this was trucked in. Having such a dominating aroma gets ya thinking about food, chickens funnily enough. I’ve probably over done my love of offal to explore the innards again. So let’s look at the entire bird.
As always look for a decent chook, one that’s had a good life, roaming around a lot, eating a large diet of seeds, grubs and kitchen scraps. If you believe in the free-range story, good for you, you won’t find good chooks cheap so head for the markets.
This is a well used recipe at home, when you haven’t the time to roast a whole bird, flattening it out and cooking on the BBQ can have a 1.5kg bird cooked in around 30 minutes. This is based on Giuliano Bugialli’s terra cotta chicken, utilising some left over building materials.
What you need it lots of thick skinned lemons, juiced, a couple cloves of garlic, smashed up, roughly chopped parsley, a good sprinkle of salt and a pinch of dried chilli.
My standard salt these days is the pink Murray River salt, not cheap but it has far more flavour than the stripped, processed, version most use. There’s a whole world of salt out there, each with a particular use and the extra cash is well spent if you desire the flavour boost that good salt gives, get into it.
Cut the backbone down each side with a sturdy knife, remove and then flatten the chook out. Press down firmly on the neck region. This is not a weird, necro-avian massage; you want to break the wishbone so it lies quite flat. Marinate the chicken for an hour or so if you’ve the time.
Get the BBQ plate hot, and then lower it to a simmer place the chicken inside down (or skinside up if that makes more sense) along with the back bone, surround with a ring of squeezed lemon halves. You should have a low nice sizzle going. Basting regularly, place a piece of foil over your quarry, now grab a couple of house bricks and balance them on the chicken. This keeps everything fairly flat and resembles a terra cotta vessel used in Italy to bake a chicken thus. You might have to improvise if your house is built out of Besser blocks, otherwise you’ll have chicken pancake.
After about 15 minutes, flip the chicken over, baste generously, rebuild the little brick house and cook for another 15 minutes. The chicken should soak up all the juice and flavour and come out of its residence all lemony, crispy and brown.
Simple serve with a light salad based on baby spinach, just dress this with oil as there’s plenty of lemony acid in the chicken to balance.
House brick chicken
1 Chicken of good parentage
4 lemons, juiced
3 cloves garlic
handful of parsley, chopped
Salt and dried chilli flakes
