A calorific cathedral of cuisine Eating a path through Melbourne leaves singing the foodie paradise’s praises.
Smithies Grant
Icame, I saw, I ate. I mean, I ate a lot. Every day, I packed away the amount a whole family might eat in a week. Why wouldn’t I? I was, after all, in Melbourne, a city blessed with beauty and brains but also, a very sizeable belly.
The idea came to me during a bout of particularly depressing crap New Zealand weather. A hungry man at the best of times, I would do a runner from our wet fizzer of a summer, fly to Melbourne – a city renowned for its tucker – and pig out royally for five days.
Rather than gaze out my window past damp washing at storm clouds the colour of a dirty sheep, I would head for Victoria to spend a week exploring inner-city eateries, happy as a clam and hungry as a horse.
I would saunter through sun-baked parks beside the Yarra River, under jacarandas and lemon-scented myrtles, on my way to lunch.
A key question formed on the plane on the way over. How does a new venture gain a foothold in this hungry city? With so much good food available, in all styles and at every price point, it must be daunting for any restaurateur trying to take a bite of this crowded market.
So, I would spend five days checking out the start-ups to see how they were getting on. I would taste their food and check their faces for signs of nervousness. And what better place to start than breakfast?
High-end hustlers of the local cafe scene, Nathan Toleman, Sam Slattery, Ben Clark, and Diamond Rozakeas have set up many of Melbourne’s most famous eateries over the past decade, including Liar Liar, Three Bags Full, Two Birds One Stone, Top Paddock, and The Kettle Black.
Their latest venture, (650 Little Bourke St), opened last June.
A former power station with 15-metre brick walls, rampant rambling plants and huge windows projecting shafts of light from the street, it’s such a beautiful room, you can almost sustain yourself just by looking around.
Things get even better once you have a look at the day menu – a mix of retooled brunch classics and small plate offerings with influences from Japan, Italy, and the Middle East.
The spiced cauliflower scrambled eggs is already famous city-wide, and the roasted mushrooms on polenta would have me swimming the Tasman for more. Unsurprisingly, the place was packed, its future assured by the
Higher Ground
fact the venue was as special as the food.
To be reminded how much fine food flows around this town, look no further than the nearby Queen Victoria Market – a loud, pungent and crowded cathedral of calories, drawing worshippers from all over the city.
The place is patchworked with vivid fruit and vege stalls alongside a massive meat and fish precinct, endless French, Greek, and Italian deli alcoves, cheesemongers, wine, and craft beer merchants.
On the corner of Elizabeth and Therry streets , another new market venue has just set up shop.
‘‘It’s early days,’’ admitted the waiter at as he slapped a steaming, herby quarterroast chicken down in front of me. ‘‘We’ve only been going a month, but things are looking good.’’
Home-cured bacon, spring lamb, an array of stuffed chicken and plump sausages, wild duck, thumping great lumps of beef – all the meaty goodness here passes through the rotisserie, often slow-roasting through the night to be served warm the following day.
The place was rammed, a ruck of happy punters tucking into various roasted delights on a communal table running parallel to the counter. Others drifted in and out for cheeses, charcuterie, a lunch sandwich or takeaway roast beef roll.
It’s a more casual New York dinerstyle eatery from Scott Pickett, best known for local fine dining joints ESP, Estelle Bistro, and Saint Crispin. He chose the site for sentimental reasons: as a kid, Pickett used to stop into the Vic market with his old man for a grilled bratwurst after the footy.
But what a risk, surely – opening here, 10m from the city’s biggest food market, a place where all manner of delicious tucker can be eaten out of brown paper bags for a fraction of the price.
‘‘That’s one way of looking at it,’’ said our waiter with the twitch of a frown. ‘‘But you could also say this place has huge foot traffic from people who already care about food.’’ True. And certainly, my crispy, delicious chicken did not die in vain.
The following night, an Uber dropped my famished family at
Pickett’s Deli & Rotisserie Meatworks Smokehouse and Grill
(28-30 Ross St) in South Melbourne.
The guv’nor himself, Lindsay JonesEvans, was working the floor, delivering plates of mussels, chargrilled octopus, and pulled beef brisket that had sat in the smoker overnight. The co-founder of famous Sydney When I finally die, quite possibly from overeating, and ascend to my rightful place in heaven, I imagine it will look a lot like Milk the Cow. joints Jones The Grocer and the Victoria Room, Jones-Evans had moved back to Melbourne after two decades away because the city’s food scene was ‘‘looser, friendlier, less greedy’’.
He had gone loose as a goose with the decor for this newest venture, which opened less than a year ago. From the roof hung an elaborate system of ropes, scaffolding, and light fittings. In the corner, faux-Roman columns stood in a loose clump, like giant Pick-Up Sticks tossed against the wall.
‘‘I found those in India,’’ he said. ‘‘Pretty good, eh?’’
Yes, mate, but not as good as the tucker, which was fragrant, smoky, and tender, cooked on a giant wood-fired smoker also built by the boss.
‘‘We get a lot of locals in,’’ said our