My Kingdom For A Hat: Good Food Guide 2024 Pt. 2, and The Bureau Awards 2023
On rising and falling, who does and doesn't need hats, Chris Lucas, and smoked eel.
One of the fleeting graces of a career service professional, and one all too often ignored by front of house staff, is the power to make people truly happy. This is not an option for most people, in most walks of life. The day to day mundanities of most jobs can be boiled down into flowery performative conversations, either regarding funds owed, or relating to some version of “have you tried turning it off and back on again?”. Hospitality, for all its pitfalls, offers people the ability to transcend these drab interactions, genuinely connect, and nourish a customer’s inherent need to be liked, fawned over and fed. It’s something as a manager I always try to embed in my staff; if given the opportunity to make a connection with someone, to make their day through the services we can provide, you should do it. You never know how much it can help someone.
These are the things we remember, and this is what makes a good dining experience. Granted, there are venues whose food offering is so sublime that the paying public are willing to submit themselves to disinterested or hostile staff, but even The Soup Nazi came undone in the end. Our interactions with guests are the beginning, middle and end of their dialogue with the story of a restaurant. Without it, the story can only be read, but with the care, empathy, guile and skill of a passionate service professional, our guests can truly understand the story, and become part of it. Over time it becomes their story too; and that’s when the good stuff really happens.
In so many words, the food may get them in the door, but it’s the overall package, and the investment of the staff, that keeps them coming back. And ultimately, that’s all restaurants are. Without repeat customers, with so many other dining options and ever-tightening financial restraints, restaurants cannot hope to survive. To rely on influencers, clout chasers and tik tok curators is to unwillingly start a stopwatch on your business that only ever ends one way.
Perhaps this is as good a place as any to discuss why restaurants gain and lose hats. Following on from our last post, examining our own history with the guide and the complexities of restaurant criticism, today we take a more granular and specific look at those restaurants rising and falling in old Melbourne Town.
The Cool Kids & Their Focaccia
In the incestuous subreddit that is the Melbourne Hospitality scene, cliques are currency. There is no doubt that a clique of friends and like minded staff can imbue a new venue with an instant sense of community, drawing in locals and aspirants alike, scenester moths to a flame. The energy can be palpable. It feels like things are happening here; it's like Greenwich VIllage in the 60’s, only in Collingwood. Everyone knows everyone. The staff are drinking with the regulars. It’s a freewheeling expression of self, almost virtuous in its disarray, and have you tasted the focaccia? You’ve never had anything like it! Suddenly Eric Wareheim is here quaffing pet nat, and Melbourne’s inner North disposable income set has a new clubhouse.
Unfortunately, this isn’t sustainable. Venues run like this inevitably have a use by date before they face the reckoning. Warhol’s factory ultimately flamed out, and in much shorter order, Hope Street Radio lost its hat in 2024.
Now, to be fair, reports vary. Some I know have nothing but praise for Hope Street’s unfussy home-style food, unpretentious vibe and expansive wine program. Others report that getting the staff’s attention is nigh on impossible, visits regularly marred by something missing from the order. On one occasion I stood unacknowledged so long that I just left. There is a difference between getting missed by staff because they’re busy, and getting missed by staff because they’re talking to their friends. There’s also a difference between missing items on your order because of human error, and missing them consistently because of a culture of not caring. One of my stated goals in this project is to not diminish a venue, and to offer a balanced perspective based on experience. It’s important to acknowledge that no experience in a restaurant is permanent. Accidents happen, bad services happen, but there is a limit to how many times you can not get your money’s worth. People will not return, and they will not recommend your venue. They will take away your hat. A clique-ish culture can quickly turn disastrous, and I hope for Hope Street’s sake they can find a deeper reason for being. The focaccia is good, but not that good.
Down on Gertrude, a similar fate befell Poodle, a sort of post-McConnell house of lux bistronomy. Though perfectly serviceable and from all reports thriving, the recurring theme from punters is that though the experience is broadly enjoyable, there is a definite pecking order for who receives the closest attention, namely friends of the staff and noted hospitality identities, then everyone else. I don’t personally have an issue with this (having been the beneficiary of it many times), as long as it is tempered by a base level of care for the standard full-tote paying punter. It is, after all, a business, and if the prevailing feeling a restaurant offers is that the guest is lucky to be there, there is an issue. They’ll go back up the road to Marion. They will, unfortunately, take your hat.
Fitzroy North’s Public Wine Shop falls into this category as well, a mostly excellent venue, where you will frequently receive excellent food and drink, and just as frequently get the feeling that you’re not quite cool enough to be there. Fitzroy North, in many ways the platonic ideal of inner Melburnian Bohemia, is an ecosystem unto itself, but even the junior accounts managers and architects that propagate its gilded streets are not immune to the rising cost of living crisis. They too shall fasten their hemp woven belts, and experiences like Public’s, which can occasionally veer towards haughty, may mean that such extravagences are the first to be cut out. They’ll make their oeuf mayonnaise at home. They'll take your hat.
The Lucas Group & The Rise of the Omakase
A pointed message was made by the Good Food team this year, one that The Lucas Group would be wise to heed: lift your game or we’ll take your hats. The monolithic group, helmed by the famously publicity shy recluse Chris Lucas, has been on the wane post COVID. The magnitude of its staffing requirements, a much discussed underpayment scandal, and the challenges of a changing CBD are all factors, no doubt, in a much larger story. Truly, Lucas is one of the most divisive, influential and controversial figures in the Australian hospitality industry, and one for whom a future Bureau profile is a certainty.
If the legendary and inexhaustible Chin Chin is the jewel in The Lucas Group’s crown, Society and Grill Americano are the Swarovski cufflinks, twin gems ultimately impersonating something of deeper quality, both falling from two hate to one in 2024. It is a notable blow in particular for Society, an outwardly audacious attempt by Lucas to create an international scale three hat experience to rival Vue de Monde or Brae. It was to be overseen by former Sepia chef Martin Benn, who after long delays in opening and an even longer PR campaign, departed the project almost immediately upon its launch. Far from the Eleven Madison Park of Collins Street it was intended to be, Society is left trying to recoup its considerable investment without an acclaimed mad scientist to attract Chef's Table devotees. The result is an elegant but overpriced restaurant, which through perhaps no fault of the owner, doesn’t really serve a purpose, stranded now at one hat.
Less charitable things can be said about Grill Americano, unofficial meeting place of the Victorian Liberal Party, where on any given night you might see Peta Credlin vulturing over a large T Bone steak, or Sam Newman loudly decrying woke culture in between quaffs of Barolo. It is a frankly repulsive place, from its name cowardly stolen from the now dearly departed icon Bar Americano, to its $28 mac & cheese sides. Never has a venue been so unnecessary, Melbourne hardly underserved by Italian or steak restaurants, the Good Food team perhaps coming to their senses and revoking its two hat status.
It leaves the Lucas group uniquely exposed to defend its crown as the go-to for the well-to-do. With the success of Totti’s Lorne and an expanding Melbourne property portfolio, the shadow of Justin Hemmes looms large on the horizon. We could be headed for a true clash of the titans, each clad in tan linen, a battle for the ages to be waged across the dining rooms of Melbourne. There was, however, better news for Lucas across Flinders Lane, with The Chef’s Table at Kisume rising from one hat to two. The experimental and exclusive room adjacent to Kisume is indicative of a slew of new entries in the omakase category, led by the indomitable temple to precision, Minamishima (three hats), now bolstered by the likes of Warabi, Yugen Omakase (two hats), Sushi On, and Matsu (one hat each). Obviously operators have cottoned on that one or two skilled sushi chefs standing behind a counter, not reliant on incumberaces such as wait staff and mainline gas, serving customers directly, is a very profitable business model. I won’t complain; there is no finer way to dine, and if the rapid explosion in omakase style sushi-ya in our big brother Sydney is an indicator, there are many more to come. It is always wise to look to New York to skip a few steps in the trend chain, where Ryan Sutton of the excellent Lo Times said, whilst reporting on the omakase’s rise to Michelin guide dominance:
“If you’re running one of New York’s myriad omakase or kaiseki spots, a booming style of dining that caters to the city’s wealthiest diners, the new Michelin Guide was good to you, yet again. Both of the new two-star restaurants belong to this elite scene. Noz commands $495, while Odo charges a more modest $245 at dinner — still a lot of money. And joining the one star club are both Ichimura ($425), and Jōji ($375).
Literally 18 percent of New York’s starred selections are now ambitious sushi or kaiseki spots, and that number goes higher if you throw in spendy tempura and yakitori tastings.”.
The Problem with Crown, Venues that Do and Don’t Need a Hat, Assorted Miscellany
The curious case of the post-Perry Rockpool empire continues to intrigue. While the original Bar & Grill in Sydney retains its status as the power lunch appointment de rigueur, an apathy has slid into its Melbourne establishments. This in no small part is due to the fate of the complex that houses it, the now post-Packer Crown, as desperately in need of a makeover as any entertainment complex has ever been. Although the Melbourne chapter of Bar & Grill surprisingly retains a hat, Spice Temple and the cavernous Rosetta lost theirs. Whilst Spice Temple’s uniquely refined approach to regional Chinese cooking and opium den ambience (as opposed to the rest of Crown, which simply has cocaine den ambience) still attracts a loyal following, the gigantic and expensive Rosetta now cuts a lonely shadow. Its grand terrazza, once a haven for socialites, underworld figures and their unsmiling families, is now regularly empty, a vast abandoned house jutting out into the Yarra. For such a prominent piece of real estate, this venue needs a change up. Don’t be surprised if Rosetta is the first of the Hunter Street Hospo trio to get revamped.
Down on Greville, where activewear remains the default, the second incarnation of Jason Jones’s Entrecote lost its hat. Entrecote’s playful take on the brasserie is long established in Melbourne, already a young icon in the eyes of many, a popular and versatile playhouse for those seeking Parisian vibes, or indeed, for footballers seeking a place to air their grievances and engage in combat. Whilst one can certainly spend an awful lot at Entrecote should they desire to, the mid-level pricing and more casual service style better lends itself to a hatless existence, and with an inbuilt and fervent following, Entrecote is an example of a venue that did not need its Good Food Beret. Across the bridge and under the art deco shadow of the Sun Theatre, Yarraville’s Bar Romanee is a venue that did. The definition of a neighbourhood bistro, the loss of a hat will certainly impact their trade; the clout seekers and influencers discussed above aren’t as likely to travel out West to dine without the prestige of a hatted experience, and the likeable (but admittedly inconsistent) Romanee may need to pivot to more casual fare.
Back to the city, where the decadent and incandescent arrival or Reine & La Rue heralded two hats for the Nomad Group, and presented the first true rival to Gimlet as the CBD’s most desired reservation. However, lost in all the fanfare, bluster and bone marrow mash was its smaller sibling, NOMAD Melbourne’s demotion from one hat to none, to the surprise of many. Having dined at Nomad on a few occasions, I was wowed by the professionalism and cohesion of the staff and found the food to be original and outstanding. Is it possible that The Guide took their eye off of Reine’s older Flinders Lane sister in their rush to lavish praise on the new darling on the scene? Or, just as likely, did Nomad Group’s focus on opening Reine shift their attention, and likely some of the key staff, to the new gaff? Perhaps this is also the case over on High Street Armadale, where after many years spent flirting with the milliners triptych, Amaru broke through to the mythical three hat status. Clinton McIver’s southside stalwart has been pushing the envelope for years, putting in all the work, but rarely being mentioned in the same discussion as the likes of Vue and Brae. Now he joins that exalted company, at a price, as his winebar offshoot Auterra lost its hat. Perhaps this is the penance you pay to reach Australia’s fine dining pinnacle, but a discussion about staff shortages and the compromises being made by operators just to continue trading will need to be had. I fear this piece has gone on too long, so let’s save that for another day, shall we?
The Bureau Awards
As a little addendum, I thought I’d hand out the inaugural Bureau awards, voted entirely on by yours truly, encapsulating absolutely no criteria other than my own personal opinions.
And while I spent most of the last year busily working on my own venue and having very little time or disposable income to spend at restaurants, I still managed to enjoy a few tasty morsels.
The Best Sandwich of 2023
The absurd rise of the hipster deli sandwich cafe has been Melbourne’s greatest shame in recent years. Hector’s Deli, a concept already deeply appropriative of American sandwich culture, has since become the most ripped off brand per capita in the world. Seemingly every week a new version of Hector’s, with a slightly different name, serving a near identical menu, and espousing a similar Canva-generated aesthetic pops up in a new suburb. And, sickeningly, people absolutely go mad for it, including depending on my level of hungover-ness, myself. For this reason, ALL Hectors-adjacent sandwiches are ineligible for this award, simply because I am sick of the sight of them.
Instead, I’m going to give the award to the excellent Kingsville cafe Nabo, a personal favourite. Nabo’s Scandi-leaning (mostly) plant based menu is a delight, but there are a few indulgent pockets of solace for us dairy enthusiasts, none more enticing than their cheese toastie. A gurgling, molten blend of cheese and charred leek pieces housed under the satisfying crackle of properly toasted bread, elevated with the moreish sweetness of burnt honey and the aroma of thyme. So simple and yet so difficult to execute to this level, a recent visit to Nabo (in an admittedly hungover state) and this toastie elicited a rare primal groan of pleasure. It’s that good.
My Favourite Fancy Meal of 2023
This came early in the piece, as I was able to score a booking at Keralan Feast, Mischa Tropp’s pop up collaboration with the picturesque Avani winery in Red Hill. Everything was delightful, a truly beautiful Summer’s day made better by Tropp’s colourful, textural and deft take on South Indian cuisine. A banana leaf fish curry, so aromatic and delicately prepared, the highlight of a wonderful, generous experience. Tropp is one to watch, and rumours of his return to the scene in a more permenant regard hopefully come true in 2024.
My Favourite Unfancy Meal of 2023
I have long held the view that Mile End Bagels is the best place to eat in Melbourne. No caveats. No supposition. I’m not playing. It’s number one. This largely is fueled by three core truths to the human experience, which every person, no matter what creed or faith, agrees upon:
Bagels are the best food.
Woodfired, crispy bagels are the best type of bagel
MIle End is the only place in Melbourne that does good woodfired bagels.
So there you have it, argument over, I see no reason to continue this debate. MIle End’s monthly specials have been a riot, each one received by my bagel-bae brethren and I like Taylor Swift tickets to a white woman. The breakfast bagel, now happily permanent, was a triumph, a Japanese-style aerated omelette the star. The recent porchetta special was a winner too, but it was their Reuben that sent me into the sort of hedonistic eye rolling state that cements Mile End as my go-to.
The Dish of 2023
I always endeavour to select something from a menu that I’m not innately familiar with, or at the very least seek a staff member’s recommendation as to what they’d order. The two coalesced this year, when to much personal excitement, The French Saloon announced its surprise return from hiatus. A personal fave, and one of the best rooms in the city, Saloon represents so much that is right about hospitality, the food never less than stellar. On this night, their second night back, the effervescent fizz of champagne still alive on my lips, a divine plate hit our table that I now recognise as my favourite dish of 2023. Luxurious, impossibly fatty windows of smoked eel, tessellated across the plate like a mosaic, carefully decorated with batons of green apple and chiffonade herbs. In one corner, a quenelle of doubly dense horseradish creme fraiche, to be spread across the eel, then rolled and devoured by hand, like French temaki sushi. Served cold, billowing smoke permeating the fatty fish created a sense of campfire warmth, the crispness of the apple and insistent, lingering horseradish giving the effect of rising through the air, like fat happy hot air balloons. Yes, I was very happy to be there, and yes, I don’t get out as much as I should, but no dish filled the quadrants of experience, execution, exploration and elegance like this in 2023.
And that, dear readers, is definitely enough for today. I hope you’ve enjoyed this piece; please consider sharing and recommending Bureau via Instagram and Substack. We’ll be back early next week
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