How Quay, Brae and Moon Under Water dish up unmeasurable magic
Chef Peter Gilmore at Quay, where the view is as world-class as the food. Source: News Limited
IN the five years since he joined The Australian, restaurant critic John Lethlean has awarded only three perfect scores. Tomorrow, in The Weekend Australian Magazine, he makes it four. Here, he explains what goes into a flawless dining experience. It’s not just about the food.
IT doesn’t happen terribly often but, maybe once a year, I’ll give a restaurant five. Out of a possible five. A “perfect score.” And it’s happened again.
A rush of blood to the head? A measured, objective assessment? All of the above, really: I’m a big believer in passion, labrador enthusiasm and putting my heart on my sleeve. I also believe there have to be sound reasons for getting frisky, too.
For me, you see, a review for The Weekend Australian is quite a personal thing; it’s different to a guide book, or voting for an award, where more sober, less idiosyncratic scoring is better suited to the medium.
John Lethlean has reviewed more than 200 of the nation’s finest restaurants. Browse his archive, state by state, here.
Context is important. A review for a magazine, with my byline there somewhere, is all about … Us. You and me. My opinion and how you respond to it. Do you like the cut of my jib or think me a prat? Do I make the argument or leave you asking questions? Is the assessment framed within a readable narrative or merely facts and self-important commentary?
Most importantly, do you trust me? Do we have a relationship, you and me? Have I earned your trust?
We all have the critics we trust, whose recommendations we rely on, or whose scorn is accepted as an article of faith. Cars, books, films, music … Or critics who at least provide us with a constant springboard from which we can leap to our own conclusions. I hope I’m one or the other.
So let me say right here, my scoring system is about the strength of my personal recommendation. I really, really want you to spend your dining dollar well, and the bigger the score, the greater my enthusiasm for you to divert your bucks that way, because we all know, dining out in Australia ain’t cheap.
Me, I wouldn’t buy a car without reading reviews, and I wouldn’t go to a restaurant without reading reviewers I trust, either (there are several).
Put simply, a five-score for a restaurant means I cannot recommend it more highly. It means that, within the context of what the restaurant is trying to achieve, I cannot see how it might be improved. I’m excited, and I want you to be too. So certain things are a given:
Warmth: Professionalism, product knowledge and the ability — on the part of front-of-house staff — to read the customer.
Teamwork: The dance between kitchen and service, something we rarely think about unless they get out of step, is perfect, almost psychic.
Attitude: Does it spell real hospitality or a by-the-numbers approach to diners, the customers. In a restaurant recommended this highly, I know those staff like having you aboard and want to work hard to make diners happy.
Fun: There is absolutely no reason why serious dining cannot be a fun experience. If I give a place five out of five, trust me, it’s been a fun night out.
Amenity: Fixtures, fittings, the bits and pieces you hold and wield — they must be appropriate, of a quality reflective of the restaurant’s pitch and cuisine.
Mood: The restaurateur has thought about the music, lighting, appearance of the staff and whether they are happy. A restaurant with glum staff will never get the maximum recommendation.
AFFORDABLE MAGIC: Moon Under Water
Wine and beverage: A great restaurant delivers value in far more ways than the mark-up on the bottle. The collection, its relationship to the kitchen’s food, the ability to communicate that, to enthuse and engage the diner, take us on a little journey of discovery. And, yes, the price.
And that leaves the little matter of food.
At this level, you can take it as read we are talking about produce that is nothing short of perfect. Ideas that delight with their “didn’t see that coming” factor. Creativity, not culinary plagiarism. Technique that leaves you — the food lover — with deep respect for its author.
But — most of all — food that stimulates most of the senses, particularly taste, smell and touch, all at once. Food that thrills with the varying textures of each element working together in the mouth, food that works the palate and the olfactory passage in a way that leaves you moaning for more, marvelling at what may possibly be that most valuable of all experiences, a new sensation. And isn’t that what life’s about?
Finally, somewhere in there is the ineffable X factor. The whole and the sum-of-the-parts thing. And we are, after all, talking about measuring something that is essentially unmeasurable.
Sometimes, five just seems the only appropriate response to an overwhelming experience.
It’s not a science.
Source: The Australian - 13 June 14
