RESTAURANT

When it was good, it was very good

Proper pub grub

Galbraith’s hot chips: soothing Auckland hangovers since forever.

They used to fry them in beef dripping. A vegetarian friend of mine used wilfully to ignore this and I would not judge her, because those chips were outstanding. Today, of course, they are triple-cooked because fashion dictates the modern chip must be only slightly less labour intensive than, say, a vegan cheesecake (first make your “cheese”).

At Galbraith’s Alehouse, potatoes are hand-cut, par-boiled and twice-fried at the rate of about 200 serves a week. They come, highly recommended, by today’s review panel: Four journalists well-versed in the restorative power of hot chips.

I know exactly how Galbraith’s makes theirs, because I rang to ask about the sausages and got chatting. They have a new chef (ex Source Cafe and a long stint at the now defunct Hammerheads) and about the time you read this review, there will be some new menu items, including a porcini and semolina gnocchi with lamb rump, which sounds like a spectacular way to eat winter.

Meanwhile, those sausages ($19.90). Pork and apple cider with mashed spud and peas. Sounded yum. But we didn’t love them because the onion gravy was too sweet, and there was something weird going on with the meat which, it turns out, was the addition of cinnamon.

Apple and cinnamon are a classic combo. In a pie. With icecream. If you’re going to put them in a sausage, let the customer know, so they can choose the venison burger.

The burger ($23.90) was brilliant. Galbraith’s own-brewed Rurik Russian Imperial Stout was recently named best strong beer in the world and for this non-beer drinker, a stout-soaked burger patty was the best possible way to sample it. Plus it came with cabbage that had been cooked down with truffle paste and a spiky-hot tomatillo and jalapeno relish. It totally nailed the gastropub brief.

I couldn’t eat all the brioche bun, so I sent it across the table to the man with the Butlers steak (aka bitey, tasty, oyster blade) and an excess of brandy and peppercorn sauce ($22.90). I recently heard some reality television judges sneeringly refer to this kind of dish as an 80s throwback. I confidently predict nobody will be ordering kale puree in 30 years.

Galbraith’s has a an interesting snacks menu that runs from smoked ricotta tacos to scotch eggs and mussels. The latter ($9.90 for six) came with a chorizo-infused powdered almond crust, which was tasty but swamped the shellfish. I think it would have washed down better with a beer.

Our final dish was chicken nonya, as envisaged by Fred Flintstone. Sarah almost fell off the side of two enormous thigh-on-the-bone cuts in a pool of laksa-like gravy ($20.90). The rice was gluggy and the naan too crispy to do justice to the sauce, which looked benign but came with a kick. In summary, not everything was perfect, but when it was good, it was very good.

I like this pub, with its proper pub feel and solid, 104-year-old foundations. There is a garden in summer, and a fire in winter and none of the tables wobble. It attracts a varied clientele. On the day we visited, there was a famous actor, a bunch of blokes in high-vis, a couple of women in suits and everybody had to stand in line and order at the bar. “That’s your table number — and your age,” said the man who handed me a card marked “21”. This has not swayed my overall opinion one little bit.