Some restaurants are very good but, for
whatever reason, don’t get the buzz that they deserve. I don’t know why. Something
to do with coolness, or fashionability probably, which sounds quite shallow but
is probably just as important as the food given that people go out not just to
eat but to spend a couple of hours somewhere more exciting than their own
lounge.
Pure in Herne Bay is a very very good restaurant with a
very very good chef. I went there for a meal recently and it was all very
interesting and perfectly cooked. The easiest way to test good cooking technique
is the meat, because it’s so poor when it’s done too long, or too hot, or too
timidly. Pure has a strong Swiss influence, which might account for the
exactitude in the cooking. You can’t make a decent clock if you’re no good at
remembering instructions.
But do you ever hear people at the office water
cooler talking about how much they want to go to Pure? I lived 100 metres from
there for twelve months without even looking at the menu. It’s regularly in Metro’s
Top 50, but you can be virtually assured that if you walk up at 7.30pm they’ll
be able to find you a table. It’s just one of those things.
Another great restaurant without, as far as
I’ve noticed, much excitement around it is Ponsonby Road Bistro. We tried it
out a week or so ago and it was lovely – lovelier than you’d expect for a
restaurant on Ponsonby Road, and WAY lovelier than you’d expect for a
restaurant named after Ponsonby Road. It did very well in the Top 50 as well,
with wild rumours flying around that it’s steak is even better than the scotch
at Coco’s Cantina.
It’s dark and classy inside, and the
service is dark and classy too. Well, classy anyway. Our waiter spoke like
Rowan Atkinson’s character in Love Actually – “just the merest of moments”,
that sort of thing. He was considered, and charming and articulate in that way
that Scandinavians tend to be – they’re so embarrassed about English being only
their fifth or sixth language that they practice it until they’re better than
us. But they tend to have a slightly affected manner of speaking – no
colloquialisms or contractions, that sort of thing. Anyway, I don’t know why
I’m telling you all of this because we asked the maître d’ what country the
waiter came from and she said he was from Hamilton.
The food: When was the last time you got
excited about soup of the day? When was the last time you even ordered it? I
don’t think it’s ever happened to us – stupidly, I always feel like if you’re
going to splash on a first course, why would you get something that was liquid?
– but this one sounded so good that we went for it: miso, pumpkin, ginger and …
sweetcorn I think. And a clammy (made of clams, not cold and sweaty) broth, and
a halloumi thing, deep fried so a bit disappointing, and that almost perfectly
cooked scotch fillet which, again, is a great litmus test for a kitchen. Not
quite as good as Coco’s though.
The winelist is really interesting and long
and thoughtful, with lots of Europeans and some smaller New Zealand producers:
if you ever see Alluviale on the menu order it immediately; I was introduced to
it by Sidart’s wine god Marie and have got excited when I’ve seen it ever
since.
I’d
like to tell you about the dessert too, but as often happens when I’m not being
paid to review something, I drank too much and stopped paying attention and have
now forgotten everything from about half way through my main. My missus reckons that I said at the time it was one of the greatest desserts I’ve eaten in Auckland which,
to be fair, sounds like the sort of thing I’d say when I was pissed. But she’s
more of an expert than I am on sweet courses and had only had one glass of
wine, so I’m taking her word for it: it was amazing. So order the "roulade", it’s an indulgent but
light sort of meringue and mascarpone thing with rhubarb and tamarillo and
ginger. Apparently.
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