Bar Vincent in Sydney and Melbourne’s Omnia.
Bar Vincent is fast becoming a neighbourhood favourite, and for good reason, writes KARLIE VERKERK.
What’s the point of dining out if you’re looking for a restaurant that feels like home? The point Bar Vincent makes is that the food may better than anything your mum, husband or nonna could whip up, and you won’t be forced to scrub pots and pans afterwards. The shallow bowl holding the maltagliati, however, seems to magically clean itself, albeit with a little assistance from a hunk of house-made bread.
The Darlinghurst trattoria-slashbistro opened in July last year. Since then, its owners Sarah Simm (Billy Kwong) and Andy Logue (Pinotta and Scopri, Melbourne) have been quietly and confidently doing their thing. And they are doing it well. Simm’s thing is on the floor, serving guests in the multi-room dining space in a warm yet confident manner, while Logue heads up the compact kitchen.
The menu, artfully handwritten by Simm, is tight and modest, and heroes whichever produce is best on the day. You can count on oysters and, at this time of year, lighter dishes such as stuffed zucchini flowers; a salad of black Russian tomatoes and buffalo mozzarella; and fresh figs, selected at their peak ripeness, sliced and draped in salty culatello. Three handmade pastas follow, plus a small handful of mains that dance around whole fish, stuffed birds and steak.
Logue’s cooking style can be best described as considered simplicity, and for the most part borrows flavours and techniques from France and Italy. Whether it’s a whole-roasted yellowbelly flounder topped with wafers of potato and finished with a glorious glug of extra-virgin olive oil, or an emulsified pasta sauce gleaming with butter, he knows that fat equals deliciousness. Although, an off-menu battuta, a hand-chopped Piedmontese beef tartare, laden with olive oil and topped with rocket and shaved parmigiana, begs for an acidic or textural boost. The flavour of the beef is there, but the dish as a whole might be too simple.
Other off-menu items are well worthy of consideration, though. This time it’s garfish, which Logue treats with utmost respect and nimble knife skill. The outer flesh of the delicate bone-in, tail-on fish is scored ever so lightly, then oven-roasted for three minutes until just opaque, before being laid over a vibrant sauce made from green herbs, anchovies and capers.
Sharing is encouraged – the kitchen will even divide pastas in
two, a nice touch – but you may be unwilling when it comes to the maltagliati. It sees glossy sheets of “badly cut” pasta drenched in a buttery, orange-hued sauce flecked with shreds of tender rabbit, carrot and parsley. A crisp, chalky white wine, such as a La Morella Il Monte Cortese from Piedmont, does well to cut through the richness.
Another dish that might appear on the shifting menu is the fregola sarda. A mix of expertly cooked snapper, prawns, cuttlefish, vongole and mussels is lovingly stirred through plump fregola cooked with olive oil, tomato and a hint of basil. It’s a celebration of seafood and delivers the comforting joy of a warm hug.
Also emulating a warm hug is the restaurant’s interior. During the day, angled blinds help to filter natural light and up the cosy factor, and at night, ornate wall sconces radiate an ambient, golden glow. It’s all very romantic; the soothing sounds of jazz only make it more so. Dotted around the room are bags of flour and cases of Menabrea birra. I’m unsure if it’s purely a storage solution or a nod to the authentic Italian trattoria. Either way, they look charming.
Batons of sourdough, which are sliced and served complimentary throughout the meal, are baked in-house daily, as are the desserts. One day it might be a syrupy lemon cake accompanied by fresh ricotta, another, stone fruit roasted until jammy with bay leaves and booze.
The wine list is compact but considered and focuses on minimal intervention. There’s a tempting range of aperitivi and digestivi on display, too. I suggest starting with a Rondò Spritz – a herbaceous, less-sweet version of Campari.
Bar Vincent is home in the sense that it feels unfussy and unpretentious. It’s a place where you feel comfortable enough to request more bread, and where you can truly relax in the knowledge that the food has been prepared in an honest, down-to-earth fashion with a whole lot of love.