Maybe it is worth storming the Bastille for its excellent food. Photo / Mark Mitchell
Herald rating: * * * *
Address: 116 Majoribanks St, Wellington
Ph: (04) 382 9559
Website: bastille.co.nz
Open: Monday-Saturday from 5.30pm
Wine list: Superb, and well served
Vegetarians:No problem
Watch out for: That sticky
Bottom line: Classic bistro
On the dessert menu at Bastille is what the management calls "the world's greatest fortified wine", a Campbell's "Merchant Prince" Rare Rutherglen Muscat, from northeast Victoria.
Robert Parker, the omnipotent American wine critic, awarded it 99 out of 100, though if you've met the man himself in the
excellent documentary film Mondovino, you may think him a tosser.
Still, and at the risk of getting technical, I have to say that it was bloody nice. Drunk, as advised, with an espresso, it delivered dense, syrupy flavours that moved through the mouth like waves of wind on prairie grass and seemed stronger long after the sip had been swallowed than when it had first been taken. It made for a very fine end to an excellent meal and was worth every cent of the $26 for a small glass.
The Blonde and I have tried several times to get into this Wellington institution. But whenever we asked for a table the staff smiled indulgently in the way a specialist's receptionist does when you ask whether you can get an appointment before Christmas.
In recent years, though, I had heard disturbing reports: it had been coasting on its reputation and, later, that the food had become far too fancy and the prices had become flash to match. You could get a table easily, but you didn't want to, the local gossip had it. My journalistic curiosity excited by this - and by the fact that they now take bookings - I picked up the phone.
The portents were bad when we arrived - the place was empty. "Quiet night?" I asked the proprietor. "Don't worry," he said, reading the anxiety in my voice. "The others are coming." He was right. As we dined, the place almost filled. Interestingly, a table near us was briefly occupied by two men who had stopped for an entree and a convivial glass of wine on the way home from work: it seemed a most civilised - and very French - response to the idea of a neighbourhood bistro.
It turns out that Bastille is now in the hands of Australian import Matt Roussy, a certified sommelier who was working there and made the boss an offer. He stripped the menu back to basics (six entrees at $17 or less, six mains at $32 tops) and made sure the classics are in place - onion soup, steak frites, tarte au citron - before imparting some Kiwi je ne sais quoi: Aoraki salmon, lamb shanks and so on.
Our choices for starters included a dreamy, creamy goat's cheese tart and an excellent salad of roquefort (a blue sheep's cheese which is a French classic), pear and walnut. I followed with coq au vin, a dish whose nobility took a hammering from the atrocities served up under the name by women in flowing dresses in the 70s. Bastille's version restores its reputation: big cubes of pancetta studded the rich sauce and the bird was tender but firm. The Blonde's crispy skin snapper came on a ragout that included, of all things, slices of a mild chorizo.
Matt proved a dab hand at the wine-matching and was attentive without seeming hurried. I may have missed Bastille in its glory days, but there's no reason to doubt that the best is yet to come.
