RESTAURANT + WINE
What you read is what you get with this Greek- inspired menu
Style and substance; Party time
It was an oleaceous assault. Full throttle Throubes. A punch in the palate from the treeripened, lightly-salted Greek olive aficionados claim has a flavour like no other. It tasted like olive. Really, really like olive. This may not please the people who ordered pork. At Gerome, consider the menu carefully, because what you read is what you get.
It said: Spit-roasted pig, quince, Throubes olive and apple ($33). It came as thick slabs of almost fat-free meat, slathered in finely chopped olives, off-set with two dollops of sweetened quince and a couple of slices of barely poached apple. The meat was meaty, and, as previously noted, the olives landed with a thwack. After years of eating soft, sweet pork belly, this was like getting a seat at the grown-up table.
The same thing happened with our pudding. “Lemon krema” sounded light(ish) and looked heavenly, made prettier with rose petals, pale pine nut icecream and crunchy, fennel-infused biscuit crumbs. Ultimately, though, this was cream and citrus. A lot of citrus. Sweet, but also very sour. Moreish, in the same way touching an electric fence might have been when you were a kid.
Gerome’s website promotes a menu “loosely based” on the flavours of Greece. It promises protein via whole carcasses, butchered on site, cooked over a charcoal and wood fire. When we entered the air was savoury with smoke. Later, I thought the table next to us was actually on fire, but it was a cinnamon stick smouldering in a negroni cocktail. The glow was made for Instagram, but the smell made me sneeze.
Gerome does strong and bold and honest and other over-used words from the modern smartcasual dining vernacular. Occasionally, it’s too much. A honey and coffee-soaked short rib ($37) shredded easily, but the flavour had leached from the meat and the sauce had been taken too far.
I very much liked the whole, flame-grilled piper ($19 for four). These skinny, pointy-nosed creatures sit alongside grey mullet and ling on the Best Fish Guide’s “okay to eat” list. Actually, they look impossible to eat, but the flesh peeled like a banana skin from the backbone and the accompanying daubs of creamy mayo were balanced beautifully with whole pickled baby cucumber and large chunks of fennel.
Our waitperson advised that seared saganaki ($14, with honey and figs) was like halloumi. In fact, it was more like fried aged cheddar. Google solves the mystery — a “saganaki” is actually a small, heavy two-handled frying pan. Our shared plate (a piece of pottery gorgeousness made in Piha) was whisked away before we could mop up all the honeyed goodness, but it was a minor mis-step. My main service complaint: the denial of a request for a taste of a Spanish gewurztraminer before we committed to a bottle. Not possible because, apparently, if we didn’t like it, the bottle would have been opened unnecessarily. It’s a chicken and egg argument, and the restaurant wins when we go for something more familiar (and expensive).
Gerome is sited in the old Iguacu restaurant on Parnell Rd. On the night of our visit, it was packed. Upstairs was very blonde and very moneyed. Downstairs, a famous Auckland chef sat, suited, at the bar. It was all style, but also, literally, substance. My favourite dish was the charred broccoli. Fifteen dollars for two enormous, blackened chunks of veg, a marmalade-bang of preserved lemon, smooth white bean puree and a salty, sheepy quark. Nothing more; but equally, nothing less.