They were both terribly nice but the simplest request seemed to quite bamboozle them. The bottle of sparkling water I ordered three times arrived only half-right: it was still.
My mentioning this prompted a long animated discussion in the corner as they studied the bottle on the tray. After some time, the maitre d' arrived with the right bottle.
Later, a total stranger arrived with two dishes we'd chosen - our pair had temporarily disappeared - gave one of them to a neighbouring table and wondered whether "by any chance" we had ordered the other one.
Time after time, plates were brought upstairs by people who weren't waiters, inspected minutely by our pair who, after a natter, took them back downstairs again. At one point our waitress offered some confit salmon we were expecting to another group, who said they hadn't ordered it. As she disappeared downstairs with it, I stifled a whimper of grief worthy of a bereft lover.
The food that did arrive was a mixed bag. Chef Bryan McGruer (ex Sale St and Jervois Steak House) has dreamed up a "share-concept menu" (see "tosh" and "piffle" above) that includes several concessions to silly fashions: the chevre parfait accompanied by roasted peppers, was actually roast peppers (delicious) with a dollop of creamy chevre (ditto), but the latter had settled in the bottom of the jar that it was served in, so it was very hard to eat them together.
Even sillier was a Caesar "basket", a salad not so much deconstructed as assembled so as to create maximum awkwardness for the diner: the cos leaves were enclosed in a parmesan wafer like a large serviette ring, while the other elements - crispy jamon serrano, fat anchovies, tempura egg yolk - watched on. It deconstructed itself as we ate.
A ceviche of broadbill was swamped with citrus and topped with crisp-fried shallots that meant the fish was identifiable only by sight, not taste, and the salmon, when it arrived, was even more overwrought: it was melt-in-the-mouth, but licorice cream, gremolata and a bit of this and a dusting of that made it distressingly busy.
Far more successful was a short rib of beef, served as succulent slices and a big on-the-bone lump, with a horseradish mascarpone.
Pizza tried on a later visit was unimpressive. Sun-dried tomatoes are a mistake at any time but on a pizza, dried to the texture of shoe leather, they are an outrage.
Maybe nomadic peoples use them when they whip up dinner in the pizza ovens they routinely tow behind their horses, but that doesn't make them right.
Plates: $12-$36; pizzas: $23-$26; desserts: $13.
Verdict: Patchy food, hilarious service.
**Correction: Last week's review of Chiko's restaurant implied the menu was designed by the chef. It is in fact designed by the owner and head chef.
Cheers
By Joelle Thomson, joellethomson.com
An ode to riesling An $8.99 bottle of wine with the X-factor might sound like a rarity but, thanks to one of the largest wine companies on Earth, it is a reality. A trip to Countdown last week was a reminder of the outstanding value that comes in each bottle of Jacob's Creek riesling.
It costs $10.59 but usually sells for $8.99. It is not often stocked at eye level because many who sell it say riesling confuses wine drinkers. Is it medium-dry or medium-sweet? And what's that mouth-puckering acidity in young riesling all about? The answer is that acidity preserves freshness - yes, even in riesling that usually sells for less than $9. This year is the first in the past three that the Summer of Riesling movement has not pushed this underrated wine. So, here is my ode to riesling: buy it and be wowed by how it over-delivers when you open it in a decade's time and discover a fresh, mouth-filling white.
