Soul, Viaduct Harbour

By MICHELE HEWITSON for viva

At Soul bar and bistro the unsalted butter pats come with a little waxed paper cover which has printed on it information which serves to tell you that you are indeed at Soul.

I have no idea why they might do this, given that the butter arrives at the beginning of the evening while you are in the bistro, before you have hit the bar and found yourself too pissed to remember where you are.

Perhaps you do need reminding. Soul is one of those large, unlovely rooms at the Viaduct where a few too many wines at any of the various attached bars could find you wondering just which establishment you were drinking in.

But you go to Soul for the food. At least we did on a blustery Saturday night.

Aucklanders are not deterred by weather. If there is a verandah with a view of water, plastic-wrapped though it might be, they will sit on it.

We sat up the back of the room which gave a very good view of our perfectly sweet waiting person who approached the table in a strange sort of half-crouch. He stopped some distance away and took orders for glasses of wine, and some of that signature butter to go on the bread.

The bread was ciabatta. It arrived hot, and with apologies for being the straggly bits of the loaf. We could have more if we so desired and if I'd known we were going to be charged seven bucks for the four straggly bits, I would have said yes.

How odd to send straggly bits to the table in the first place. The butter was lovely.

Another apology arrived: there wasn't much to tell us about the menu tonight. Don't mention it. I wouldn't have.

We were getting that look, that glazed-over look which might more properly indicate that we'd been too long at the bar (we hadn't been there at all) which may well have been the reason the perfectly sweet wait person kept his distance.

He obviously knows his diners and he had judged perfectly that we were the sort who would ask stuff. Difficult stuff like: What, exactly, would you have pureed Jerusalem artichokes with curry sauce with?

Meat, he thought. Or perhaps chicken. Or nothing, I thought, but valiantly did not say.

Next question. Where, exactly, was the shrimp in the shrimp briouats Moroccan pastries (where, indeed, was the Moroccan?) which came with the Mahurangi oysters ($19.50)?

The television critic asked the next door table if he could have a squiz at their menu: "I want to see what I've just eaten."

It was a fair enough question. Shrimp, said the menu.

Perfectly sweet waiter (none of this was his fault and if he hadn't been so good at his job there could have been an incident) conceded that there could well have been quite a bit of salmon in the things, but that he was sure there was some shrimp in there somewhere. We took his word for it.

What we didn't ask: why was the scampi in my scampi cocktail with Moroccan ketchup rubbery? And why, at $19.50, hadn't someone removed the pips from the accompanying lemon? Or from its mate on the plate of the TVC's dryish John Dory ($26.50).

We can get pips at home. But we don't. Because we remove them. It's quite easy and it doesn't take long.

My potato tortellini with scallops in a butter sauce was okay, if a bit cloying. The zing had obviously eloped with the Moroccan.

We shared a pud. Those pips do fill one up. The yoghurt and honey panna cotta was, I believe this is the term, the piece de resistance of the evening.

This arrived adorned with something that obscenely resembled shredded cotton of the unbleached variety. I may have remarked on this, loudly. The panna cotta was perfectly fine, in that comforting nursery food sort of way.

The thing on the top turned out to be candy floss sans the food colouring. This seemed pointless for a number of reasons, including two reasons of taste. (I have just noticed they didn't put the pud on the bill. If they would like to send one I'm more than happy to pay it: for entertainment value alone.)

Anywhere other than Soul with its accolades and its high-end prices the meal would have been so-so. Here it was beyond disappointing. As was the view from the bar of the rubbish bin. And the view by the loos of the case of "stunning Soul apparel" - as seen on the menu.

God knows who would wear the stuff, and after a meal like this, I'm inclined to wonder who would pay this much to eat the other stuff on the menu either.

Open: Brunch 9am-3pm weekends and public holidays

Dinner: 7 nights

Food: Contemporary with emphasis on seafood

On the menu:

Waikane crab ravioli $18.50

Jumbo quail stuffed with Moroccan sausage $17.50

Seared venison loin with cumin and potato chorizo Spanish omelette $34.50

Vegetarian: If you must

Wine: Features Chard Farm pinot gris at $9.50 a glass, so just fine by us

Crowd: Family friendly (if you must), all ages; chic young things in the bar

Parking: Oh take a cab

Bottom line: You really have to wonder whether the boss was on holiday. Soul has an interesting menu, the service is friendly and the food, the night we went, was utterly lacking in the stuff that gives the place its name.

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