Gray and Gray Bread and Wine
On anniversaries, khachapuri, and a song of Bread and Wine
The most pure distillation of the nihilism currently besetting me: I no longer know what I want to eat. For as long as I can recall being a sentient human, my eyes would open of a morning with a crystal clear strategy on what I wanted to eat that day, and how to go about procuring the necessary funds or ingredients to attain that goal. I had the clarity of Roger Federer orchestrating a grass court rally; I knew what I wanted, and had factored in almost every possible scenario that could occur along the way. And that was just breakfast. Once that achievement was unlocked, the mind turned to lunch, all the while contemplating dinner. I used to be so definite.
Special events were planned months in advance, and no event was more important than our anniversary. Traditionally my partner and I will take it in turns organising an anniversary meal, and there have been many special ones along the way. But for whatever reason, whether it be the malaise of getting older or the overall sense of impending financial and environmental armageddon that has beset us all, this year proved a huge challenge. Nothing stood out. In the past, the hot restaurant of the moment would serve as the venue, or perhaps a classic institution. This year, candidly, we couldn’t be fucked. It’s been a year, and I can’t speak for her, but I think we’d have been just as happy eating dumplings at our local and going to bed early. Compounding the issue; this year’s anniversary fell on a Monday, an increasingly fraught night to find a decent joint for dinner. This would take some negotiating.
After working backwards through a list of potential venues, with the key Monday night trade being a deciding factor, we landed on Gray and Gray Bread and Wine, a place I’ve long intended to try. Perched on a High street hill in picturesque Northcote, the former lawyers office has been getting rave reviews, and has become a temple for industry types. I’ve always been drawn to venues who have the integrity to serve food true to their heritage; Melbourne is overserved on post-Embla wine bars serving tartare and anchovy toast. What we need are more venues unafraid to represent lesser heard voices, and in the Georgian and Russian flavours of Gray and Gray, Melbourne has found a song worth listening to.
The vision of chef Boris Portnoy, whose Michelin-starred credentials inform the pastry program at his beloved neighbour bakery All Are Welcome , Gray and Gray is a wine bar. My first impression upon entering the venue was the pleasing, logical layout. Inviting lighting, the innovative use of an old open-fronted fridge as the room’s wine display and bar instantly bringing to mind the milk bars and corner shops of Melbourne’s past. The vibe is friendly; a pair of attentive and confident staff work the floor, each complimenting the other and assisting wordlessly. In the kitchen, a single chef runs the pass of the small but efficiently designed kitchen, aided by an assistant cleaning, prepping, and occasionally cooking. Intermittently, the chef will step out from behind the pass and collect and run the food, delivering it proudly. This is always an indication of a harmonious, experienced team who value cohesion, and have a clear vision of the venue’s overall goal. Beware the chef angrily ringing his bell or shouting “service” in an open kitchen when no other tickets are up, for they hath lost their way.
A short list of classic cocktails represents the maturity of the operation; they’re not here to do anything other that what they want to do, in the best possible way they can. Our martini is excellent, adorned with two bodacious green olives, and a savoury tarragon spritz sets the palate nicely. Being a wine-focused bar, the menu veers to smaller dishes, the current menu showcasing the traditional Georgian cheese-bread Khachapuri in place of main courses. Prices are affordable, ranging from $12 to $20, all enticingly worded. The balance and cadence of the menu made it difficult to choose which dishes not to get, which is always a good sign.
Our meal started with “breads, fats and mixed pickles”, something of a staple on the menu since opening. Utilizing delicious toasted rye bread from All Are Welcome and house made Georgian flatbreads, this was a very pleasant way to begin. The “fats”, two pudgy quenelles of dippy stodge, were reason enough to return. The first, a dense puree of deeply toasted almond, almost like nutty tarator meets supermarket peanut butter, was pleasant. The second, an aggressively seasoned whipped butter with unctious malted breadcrumbs, was toe-curlingly delicious. Next, adorable baby blinis served alongside a chilled ornate glass bowl of glossy potato emulsion, whipped into a sort of tarama-adjacent cream. Chives and salmon caviar crown the dish, a puddle of bracingly tart and refreshing beetroot reduction kicking the dish into balance. All very well executed, I found the emulsion itself lacking, the combined effect of potato-on potato a touch carb heavy.
Fried brinza, a sheep milk cheese served with more flatbread, has a briny, distantly acidic taste. Kissed with honey, I find myself in a moment of content reflection, wondering if life gets much better than fried cheese in between sips of perfectly frosty Urquell pilsner, arrested in happy conversation with a loved one. It is however upon receiving of the next dish, the signature Khachapuri, that the prominence of “Bread” in “Gray and Gray Bread and Wine” crystalises for us; there sure is a lot of carbohydrate. Filling up slightly, it’s too hard to resist tearing into the great generous boat-shaped khachapuri, filled with spicy braised greens, cheese and coarsely chopped boiled egg. It’s a nourishing thing; hot, crispy and boldly plain. We’re having a great time; the room’s energy is convivial, relaxed by design. You feel looked after but left alone. Gray and Gray is the sort of versatile place where couples share a wine with some snacks, girlfriends gossip over a bottle of sparkling, or noted ABC personalities hurriedly smash three quarters of a martini and then abruptly leave. It’s a broad church; unsurprisingly, given it is the name of Portnoy’s other business, it feels like all are welcome here.
To end our savoury suite, two skewers of chargrilled pork neck, gnarled at the edges, sweetly medium at the interior. A dollop of sour plum relish, like a loose ketchup of backyard fruit, doesn’t just cut through the chunky pork, it scythes through like a grain harverster. This is the food I love; pared back but considered, the components in complimentary conversation with one another, but also asking the occasional question. Alongside, small serve of house made kraut, too salty to my palate, but offering the authoritative funk of traditiona
l fermentation. A glass of Georgian orange wine, selected by our host, a honeyed and waxy treat. We’re having a great time.
Only two desserts are available, both on the small side. Poached fruit with honey and pistachios is pleasant, but feels a little like something you’d make for yourself at home as a snack in between meals. More excitingly, a blod-clot thick scoop of tongue-clenching cherry sorbet hits your mouth like a lightning bolt; sweet, sour, medicinal, fucking delightful, but its presentation as a single quenelle verged on indolent. Disappointingly for us, Gray and Gray’s signature honey cake was not available on this night, something I’ll endeavour to try next time. The desserts we had in its stead, while serviceable, seemed like an afterthought. An impressive curation of digestifs rounds us off, highlighted by a burnt honey washed vodka amaro, made in house. Most agreeable.
Gray and Gray Bread and Wine is a venue with a tactile identity. It has a mission, underwritten by a proud heritage, raising its hand to take part in the cultural conversation taking place on plates across Melbourne. It is executed with confident, mature professionalism, but remains fun. It’s great value, interesting, and constantly evolving, the sort of place that sends the average property value of the area upwards, not that Northcote really needed much help in that regard. I hope Gray and Gray keeps telling us what it has to say, and I hope to dine there again very soon.
Gray and Gray Bread and Wine
188 High St, Northcote VIC 3070
0402 962 444