TriBeCa
Four spoons
8 George Street
Parnell
Ph 379 6359
Appetisers $8-15, Entrees $24-26, Mains
$32-40, Desserts $15-16
Thank god for Parnell. As Auckland’s
central suburbs annex and homogenise everything from Point Chev to Ellerslie,
Parnell flaps the flag for old-moneyed, eighties insanity without embarrassment.
Cycle through the Domain during a northeaster and feel the hairspray cloud
envelope you and stick you to your bike; loiter around the port during November
and watch as crew from the container ship marked “WHITE PANTS AND BEAUJOLAIS” urgently
rush new-season varieties of each into the bejewelled hands reaching out the
windows of the Caro’s courtesy shuttle.
So, TriBeCa – oh god, will I have to
capitalise it like that every time I type it? – is very Parnell, and thank
goodness for that. Without all those local trouts lunching on bottomless chardonnays
and frangelicoccinos I doubt it would be able to do a lot of the things it does.
Plus, those regulars make you look so cooool. You with your blue jeans, and you
post-WWII birthdate. Shouldn’t you be at Cassette Nine?
I’m telling you all this at the top,
because the food experience was exquisite – one of the best I’ve had in Auckland.
But just like I wouldn’t send you on a blind date with someone who wore kung fu
shoes without first giving you a little … context, I don’t want to send you to
TriBeCa with a glowing recommendation until you first understand that it’s not
like other great Auckland restaurants: the room is old school: dreary rugs, bad
curtains, hideous lighting – it’s a hot girl in a jumpsuit.
But honestly, the food is faultless. The
young chef, Hayden McMillan, is already one of the best in the city. And I’m
not just saying that because he’s tattooed and built like a brick shithouse.
His food has the visual artistry of Sidart, the creative invention of
Merediths, the flavour purity of The Grove. What sort of food? Um, how about
modernist Provencal with a pacific tilt?
So much energy, in the menu and on the
plate. Artichokes and broadbeans had been on the market for about two weeks
when we turned up, and they already featured in a lamb dish along with olives,
Clevedon feta and nasturtium, for goodness
sake. For that night only, they were offering the same set-up with veal instead
of lamb because … because chef had procured a good piece of meat and wanted us to
try it.
That enthusiasm’s everywhere – a watermelon
consommé to start, just because it was in season and he wanted to play around.
Oysters were from Matakana one day, Stewart Island the next – you think anyone
would mark him down if he didn’t change them? Strawberries, courgette flowers,
jersey bennies: you can so feel the love this guy has for seasonal ingredients;
it’s inspiring and exciting. And, so important for me, everything’s seasoned absolutely
perfectly, too.
The service is exceptional, with a good
combination of deference and risk-taking, both of which are boring without that
other essential, knowledge. For dessert, our waiter took a chance and surprised
us with a mystery bottle of sticky which had apparently been in the cellar
since the beginning of time. It was dark, almost fortified – the sort of thing
you’d only get to try at a tasting or a grown-up friend’s house. A really
special moment, but then the night was full of them.
So go, please go. The girl in the
jumpsuit’s been dating old creeps from work, she’d enjoy a roll in the hay with
a hipster like you.
Posts
