Lady Lunchalot

I just discovered some photos in my phone taken a few weeks ago at SOS, the new Italian seafood restaurant in Melbourne Central that’s being touted as Melbourne’s new must-dine vegaquarian venue.

SOS is the new star in the Paul Mathis constellation, twinkling up there with his past successes like Taxi, Chocolate Buddha, Blue Train, Soulmama and the after-work drinks staple, Transport. The entire menu at SOS is made from vegetarian dishes or sustainably-produced seafood. Regular readers will know my views on vegetarianism. It’s not often that a veg dish can hold my attention for longer than a couple of mouthfuls. So it was lucky that I didn’t know a thing about SOS when Zarina suggested it as I probably would have been turned off by the idea of a meatless meal.

However there was nothing about these dishes that bored me. I was STARVING when I arrived at SOS for lunch with Zarina and Amelia, partly because I skipped breakfast that day, and partly because I worked up an appetite just trying to find the place. The entrance to SOS looks kind of like the doorway into the Tardis. It’s big, heavy, gold and makes the place look very unwelcoming. And the blowfly-esque logo (is it a moth? A cicada?) made me wonder if I had found the right place or whether I was about to walk into a room full of teenage boys playing Time Crisis.

But the entry and the logo are my only criticisms. The food and service was superb, and our seat overlooking the state library lawns on a perfect spring day made me wistful for my uni years (though with the mains sitting at around the $28 mark, I certainly wouldn’t have been eating at SOS if I were still a student). We were offered some complimentary mini-crostinis to get the ball rolling, which was a lovely way to welcome us to the restaurant and wiped away my memories of the imposing entry.

Thankfully Zarina and Amelia are lunchalot aficionados, so indulged me when I wanted to take pics of the dishes as they arrived.

Ravioli ripieni di porcini e timo serviti con salsa di mirtilli e burro
Hand made ravioli pasta filled with fresh porcini and thyme served with butter and Tasmanian blueberries. This is the only item from a few weeks ago which is still on the menu, and I can’t remember the details of the other dishes we ate!

Taglierini with prawns

Cute little crostini with my favourite Italian phrase, mozzarella di buffala!

SOS
Level 3, Melbourne Central
211 La Trobe Street, Melbourne

Two weekends in a row, O and I have enjoyed outstanding tapas with James and Signorina Zaloa.

I was a little worried about choosing a restaurant for the Spanish Princess because she really knows her tapas. But after a morning at the Royal Melbourne Show and a birthday barbecue at Jess’s place in the afternoon, we were both pretty stuffed. Before you ask, yes, my diet had been pushed to the back burner of my mind for the day. Tapas was the logical choice.

Movida was booked out (I really wanted O to try their churros) but I remembered hearing about Bar Lourinha, the new Spanish/Portugese place on Little Collins St. They have big communal tables and don’t take bookings, so after a couple of drinks at the Gin Palace we walked right in and were able to get a table straight away.

It was only last night, but I already have so many fond memories of Bar Lourinha!

The first dish was mussels. Perfectly plump, meaty mussels cooked in an exquisite white wine sauce. The four of us were quite possessive about the bowl after the mussels had finished; the waitress kept trying to take it and we wanted to keep dipping the bread into the sauce.

Next was the carne crudo. Raw minced beef with horseradish, seasoned to perfection. Thankfully I wasn’t eating with squeamish diners and the four of us tucked in with Spanish gusto. (Or is that Italian?)

Next up was the chickpeas. Soft creamy chickpeas with a cinnamon spiciness. Usually chickpea dishes kind of hang around a shared food table for a while, but this one didn’t last long at all. I’d love to know how they spice that dish – it was one of the most unexpected seasonings I’ve tasted.

By now, the meal was really building to a crescendo. Four gorgeous little rabbit empanadillas. So cute… Muchos guapo! I just love a good dumpling. James taught O and I some colourful Spanish colloquialisms involving the Spanish word for rabbit which I won’t go into here…

Now the cymbals were really crashing and we hit the high note: The Flaming Chorizo. One gorgeously spicy chorizo sausage that was set alight at the table! It was all very dramatic, and the chorizo had a real kick to it. Perfecto!

After the incendiary climax, we cooled down with dessert. A couple of serves of churros (O got to try them after all, but I have to say the dipping sauce is better at Movida. Much more chocolatey). I chose the pomegranate and blood orange crema.

So I can’t wait to go back to Bar Lourinha. It’s a fantastic place to go with a small group so you can try everything on the menu!

Bar Lourinha
37 Little Collins St,
Melbourne

Fresh Crystal Bay prawns last weekend at Bondi Beach on a 25 degree day. Life just doesn’t get any better than that.

It’s been a while since my last entry, mostly because I haven’t eaten anything very interesting over the past week or so. I went to Sydney for a wedding on the weekend and it made me realise that with only 67 days until my wedding day, I really must start paying some attention to my waistline, otherwise my wedding photos will haunt me until my dying day. So I am reduced to eating rabbit food for the next couple of months in a somewhat compulsive attempt to be a size ten bride.

You see the problem is, I have a love-love relationship with food. And it was a match made in heaven until my hips decided to join in the party and turn the romance into a menage a trois.

So I’m thinking of the next couple of months as a trial separation for the three of us: (food, me and hopefully my muffin-topping hips).

But it’s not all dietary doom and gloom. I have had some foodie highlights over the past week.

1. Last night I FINALLY bought a Fowlers Vacola Preserving kit on ebay. I’ve recently discovered preserving and can’t wait to bottle lots of yummy things this summer. It was an absolute bargain at only $22.

2. I discovered an excellent Spanish restaurant in Sydney. Encasa (I think it’s in Pitt St) is the place to go for authentic tapas that doesn’t break the bank. There were about ten of us, and we drank and ate A LOT, and the bill came to the whopping sum of $30 a head. Many thanks to Zaloa the Spanish Princess for introducing us to such a find.

3. Zaloa also introduced me to a lethal caramel-flavoured Spanish liquer called Licor 43 (aka cuaranta y tres). This drink really packed a punch (I think the “43″ must stand for the percentage of alcohol it contains) and after dinner O and I ended up at Zaloa and James’s place singing Beatles songs until all hours. I also have a fuzzy recollection of running through Queens Park barefoot in the middle of the night. Hmmm…

But I do remember that Licor 43 was made from herbs, and it was sweet and delicious, so I’ll find out more about it this weekend when they will be visiting Melbourne.

Yet another great brekkie spot in Yarraville. This time at the Feedback Cafe on Ballarat St. It’s tiny and cosy, and it’s hard to find a table, but they do a mean scrambled eggs and home made baked beans. And the tea even comes in real tea cups, complete with gold trim.

One of the few advantages of living in my original condition unrenovated post-war house in Melbourne is the fifty year old lemon tree in my back yard. This grand old dame has been presiding over the veggie patch, hills hoist and the asbestos shed since the early 1950s, and the complete lack of landscaping and renovation has ensured that she has remained untouched.

I truly love this tree. Season after season she delivers me an endless supply of fresh lemons. There are waaaaay more lemons on this tree than I could ever cook, so I generally end up putting boxes of lemons out in front of my house for my neighbours to take.

So this weekend I ended up with about 20kgs of lemons in my kitchen and ten friends due to arrive for lunch on Sunday, so the theme for lunch was a no-brainer.

I started out making lemon butter (otherwise known as lemon curd). It’s really easy and absolutely delicious. Mix eggs, butter and sugar with lemon juice and zest in a bain marie for about twenty minutes until it thickens enough to coat the back of the wooden spoon. Great with any dessert.

I had some poppy seeds that had been kicking around my spice box for a while, so I also made a good old-fashioned nanna-inspired lemon and poppy seed cake. Mix eggs, butter, buttermilk, SR flour, sugar, lemon juice and zest with a generous handful of poppy seeds. Stick in a loaf tin, sprinkle with castor sugar and bake until the top has risen and cracked like a Californian geological fault. Eat warm thick slices straight from the oven and send any remainders away with guests while being mindful of the size of your waist in impending wedding photos.

Next came the chicken. Two chickens with whole lemons and fresh herbs in the cavity, and thick arcs of lemon rind and parsley tucked under the skin and over the breasts. Stick on the rotisserie for an hour or so, basting occasionally with lemon juice and olive oil. Mmmm…

Then there was the Nigella-inspired piece de resistance: The Pavlova Identity Crisis Cake. Line two springform pans with about 4cms of sponge batter (eggs, SR flour, sugar, buttermilk) and then top with an indecently thick cloud of meringue. Bake both pans for about 35 minutes on a low heat (I use both elements for the first 20 minutes then switch to the bottom element to ensure the sponge is cooked). When cooled, smother one of the cakes in generous swathes of lemon butter and cream, and then top with the other cake. Ensure you are excessive with the lemon butter so that it oozes seductively out the side of the cake making your guests drool in anticipation…

There were a couple of non-lemony items too. Pork spare ribs marinated in home made marmalade and ginger. Steaks marinated in Guiness (the perfect tenderiser) and assorted spices. And sausages of course. We enjoyed a barbecue without the actual barbecue (O and I haven’t got one yet) so instead I cooked all the meat on the griddle plate of my beloved Ilve and even succeeded in setting off the smoke alarm!

Last weekend O, Kathryn, Tim and I trod the well-beaten path to The Olde Horsham, which is now officially my favourite place to eat in the town. The four of us stopped in to make a reservation while driving by that morning and ended up chatting with the chef for a good twenty minutes before discovering an art gallery which was brimming with Pro Harts on the other side of the driveway.

Dinner was four great dishes with the same gusto and spirit that we enjoyed on our first visit. As per usual, Owen ordered the duckling, which was the stellar performance of the evening. I decided to satisfy my curiosity and tried the Steak Kilpatrick, which was a perfectly cooked fillet topped with bacon and oysters in a Worcestershire sauce, well… sauce. Kathryn had the lamb shanks while Tim chose the kangaroo (which Chef told us was shot by hunters in New South Wales… I am not sure whether to believe him!). They were four belly-filling good old fashioned country meals that left little room for dessert (somehow O and Kathryn managed a slice of sticky date pudding each!).

The following day we made a pilgrimage to the Mount Zero olive grove. Situated beneath the dramatic escarpment of Mt Zero, the olives grown here are transformed into some truly exceptional olive oils.

At the farmhouse gate, we nibbled on everything from wild olives, to manzanillas and the obligatory kalamatas. I fell in love with the dark sweetness of their beetroot and orange relish and couldn’t resist buying a jar. Beetroots are so good right now, I might even try and replicate it.

The café offered a simple vegetarian menu, of an amazing chunky lentil soup or falafels with salad and lentils. Mount Zero also offers a range of tiny puy lentils that are delicate enough to ensure they don’t intrude upon a dish in that vegetarian batik kaftan kind of way.