maitre karl

If you pass by Maitre Karl pre-sunset, you will most likely see an assorted gaggle of young and old, hip and not-so, human and canine. If you are lucky, the canine will be tethered to the coat hooks that are firmly lodged in the wall, just outside the door, and under the blackboard. "Garage á chiens" the sign reads. "Parking for dogs". And if the canines are lucky, they will be snacking on a canine-friendly treat, served up in a round metal bowl. I have been and seen on previous occasions, supped on the kitchen speciality of flammenkuche (complete with sharp knife and the heavy wooden board of a plate it comes on), and flashed a toothy grin at Chef Lex who works in the kitchen.

Yes, that Chef Lex. He of the how-to-do-your-steak. He who is quitting his long-held post at Maitre Karl to wander around America. He who has invited me to Maitre Karl for a final Lex-like meal, along with the two Bs.

For clarity's sake, the deal. "Order and pay for your mains & drinks - I'll take care of the rest. Shez, bring your camera along. You're in for a treat!" And with that, I was booked in for dinner with the Bs on a windy, rainy Wednesday night.

table water, salt & pepper

I arrive early with intentions of taking a couple of exterior shots, but as I cross the road the cars fly by, splashing water here, there and everywhere. And as I set up for a shot, I am blocked by a bus and then a truck. And oh! How warm and cosy the inside of the restaurant looks. And oh! How I wish I was in there and not out here and so in I go to see B1 nestled contentedly on a mahogany leather banquette.

entree: tasting plate

B2 arrives minutes later, as we are perusing the menu. "Harris Farm is closed yeah?" he asks, as we nod our respective heads. "Good. Cos I parked in their carpark." And as we sit, perusing (and secretly hoping that Chef Lex's version of "taking care of us" involves flammenkuchen) the man himself pops out from the kitchen, clogs and all.

"I've put together a tasting plate for you. Not on the menu, but using the ingredients we have." he says. We nod. And with that, he disappears and is replaced by three long oblong plates. Three tastes lie on each.

Frontmost is a tempura'd disc of pumpkin with a beetroot and mandarin gelee. Many of you will by now know of my aversion to orange vegetables. I know. They're sweet. And delicious. And I still don't like them, try as I may. But this! Oh, I ate it up, and didn't pull a face at all. It may have been the pairing with the beetroot gelee. A mandarin segment and slices of baby beet floated mid way through, and the sweet red-ness of it all was comfortingly slurpable. At the rear, a smoked oyster with saffron "sushi" and pea puree. Lovely and light in flavour, each flavour complementing the other.

kangaroo proscuitto & goats cheese on rye

But my favourite (and, indeed, the table's favourite) is the kangaroo proscuitto with goats cheese on rye. Never had kangaroo proscuitto before? Well, neither had I til then. I'll tell you this, it packs a punch. A salty, gamey punch that, when paired with the creamy tang of goats cheese and the earthy nuttiness of rye, makes you think of a robust glass of shiraz and men sitting by a log fire after a hunt.

palate cleanser: frozen kiwi fruit with vanilla sugar & strawberry coulis

When it is done, we are served a palate cleanser. "It is" says Chef Lex "an experiment. I saw it done at some other place and was wondering if it worked. It's not a normal menu item, but, yeah..." He trails off a little, before darting back into the kitchen. I am wide-eyed, confronted by the dish's likeness to little red tadpoles swimming endlessly towards big green eggs, when B1 picks up a stick to pop in his mouth. I follow suit and it is sweet at first, and cold, before the acidity of the kiwi fruit kicks in. As it thaws, ever so slightly, I crunch down. And like that, my palate is ready for the mains (and on my notepad is written "To do: freeze kiwifruit").

steak cafe de paris: rib eye with herb butter and red wine jus,
pomme frites and leaf salad $30.50

There was a slight scrimmage between the Bs & I at mains time. "What" I asked "are you thinking of ordering? It would be good to have three different meals" and before I had even finished B1 said "Steak!" and so my steaky dreams were left unrealised. B1's steaky dreams, however, were oh-so-sweet. A 350g rib eye on the bone steak, cooked medium-rare as ordered, and served with crispy shoestring fries, a lightly dressed salad and a disc of melty, rich and creamy cafe de paris butter. Oh. My.

A mouthful was traded, as is customary amongst all good dining companions. It was just lovely. Fatty without being overpowering or gristly. Tender without lacking texture. Flavoursome without being excessively salty. Beautiful. And at a touch over $30, it is a steak well worth the money paid for it.

poisson du jour: oven baked barramundi
with lemon aioli $30.50

While I contemplated steak-alternatives, B2 was rationalising his dinner. "If I go for a run tonight, and don't do dessert, I should be ok" said he. "But mains! Maybe Lex will make me a chicken salad..." he pondered. We stopped in our tracks. "A chicken salad? For dinner?" said we. "The fish is baked in paper" chimed in Chef Lex "hardly any fat at all if you don't eat the aioli" "Done".

The barramundi came wrapped in sliced zucchini and a smattering of tomato, and then wrapped again in a paper bag. It was fresh and it was firm. Don't be fooled though, it may look like a small serving, but it appears generosity is the key at Maitre Karl. Not one, but two fillets were contained in that paper parcel, and B1 was full and happy. And the lemon aioli? Stuff the diet and eat it by the spoonful. Truly, it is that delicious. (Or, you could do what B1 & I did and eat it with the pomme frites from the steak. Also delicious, and far more digestible).

canard röti: oven roasted duck, braised red cabbage,
spaetzle, cranberries and port wine jus $29.50

Re-reading the above paragraphs, I realise it may seem that I had myself a decent case of diner's envy. Be not fooled dear friends, for while B1 was moaning at his steak, and while B2 was delighting at the sheer loveliness of being able to eat a meal without worrying about his waistline, I was scoffing, nay, inhaling the duck. I tried to pace myself, really I did. But the crisp skin and tender, succulent, fork-able flesh were calling out to me. And oh! The bliss. And underneath, a tangle of still slightly chewy spaetzle and vinegary red cabbage, doused with a port wine jus and shocked by the occasional burst of cranberry sweetness.

I will say it but once. Get out and eat this duck. It is, without any qualification whatsoever, the best duck I have had this year, and very possibly the best duck I've had in some years prior. And, try as I might, I cannot quite finish it. It is, after all, two duck marylands on a bed of german noodle-esque squiggles. So bring your stomach with you.

creme brulee: espresso creme brulee
with frangelico ice cream ($12)

We mull over dessert. I am fingers crossed and hoping for crepe suzette (I've had it here before and oh-lordy-me it's a good thing). B1 is hoping for anything except ice cream and B2 is adamant that he will not partake in it. It is here that Chef Lex brings out dessert. It is the creme brulee, but not as I have ever seen it before. It is usually served in a wide dish, but tonight, Chef Lex has put it in a dainty espresso cup, topped it with a suitably boozy foam and oh-my-goodness, the espresso creme brulee looks like a mini cappucino!

But now, let's move past the kitsch and talk about flavour. I'll admit, I was sceptical about this dessert. I haven't had a coffee in the last 5 or so years and I wasn't sure I'd like this. But I did. Just like that circle of tempura'd pumpkin. It was creamy, it was oh-so-much like coffee. But without the bitterness, and without being cloyingly sweet. And the frangelico icecream? Di-vine. Truly. And just to prove how much I liked the dessert, here's my serve after I was done.

all done!

If you do happen to pop by at Maitre Karl and order the creme brulee off the menu, it will come in a larger serving size than what we had here. And if you aren't an alcohol-friendly person, the vanilla ice cream is really vanilla bean ice cream and comes complete with lovely little specks of bean and a heady post-consumption all natural aftertaste.

the bill

And with that, we paid our meagre bill and disappeared into the night. I back home for beauty sleep and a chocolate truffle in my bag for the Bean. B1 back home to pack for Egypt, and then America, and then who knows where. And B2 back home to walk the dog and the rest of his meal off.

Maitre Karl
197 High Street
Willoughby NSW 2068
(across the road from Harris Farm)
ph: 02 9958 1110

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assiette

It was the Bean's Birthday (and oh, I know, it seems like the Bean's Birthday just keeps on going) and there had been mutterings of a celebratory meal. Friday night was out, as plans had been made prior. Saturday was the big party (Hola!) and Sunday was the aftermath. And then, "Can we do Friday lunch?" was thrown into the mix, and "but work!" and then "and uni!" were tossed in as well, until someone (the Bean) remembered something about a fixed price lunch from Assiette, and how nice "that Warren-fellow from the Taste Festival" had seemed, and all of a sudden, plans had been made.

It was to be an exercise in timing. Collect the Bean, collect me, drive & park, eat, collect car, drop me back off at work, drop the Bean back off at uni. But somehow, what could have been a rushed, uncomfortable, too-much-work-for-so-little-return meal ended up being just perfect. A lesson in elegance and simplicity even.

the dining room

We entered through the hooded door into a simple, yet elegant dining room. "We booked for three, but we have four. Is that ok?" asked mum. A quick scan of the dining room, a smile, and a nod. "Certainly. Not a problem." responded our maitre'd, whose name I didn't catch. "Wonderful" said we.

complementary bread

We were the second table in, the first being a twosome of ladies who had been peering in the windows when we arrived ("Oh! Thank goodness you're here!" they had said. "We thought we were going to be the only ones eating here"). And when we had all been seated, menus were brought and the fixed price $30 for three course menu was selected. Which meant two plates of each course and faint "Yes, I'll let you try mine, but only a bit" deals were made.

Hot sourdough rolls were brought to the table, accompanied by the kind of butter you only find at restaurants. Rich and creamy, salty and wonderfully spreadable. "I love this bread" said the father, with a beam on his face.

sweet corn veloute with spanner crab & basil oil

Entrees were served a short wait later. "It is such a big bowl" thought the mother, out loud, "for such a little bit of soup". But then, as the spoon dove in, we realised that it wasn't a small serving at all, and we were silenced by the flavour. Because oh! There was the sweetness of the corn, and then salty sweetness of the crab, and the fragrance of basil all thrown together in a harmonious melee. The freshness of the corn came through - not a hint of that over-sweetened flavour sometimes found in the tinned variety. And the pieces of crab (I say pieces because they were more substantial than a sliver, but not large enough to be a chunk) were firm without being tough. I must admit, I tilted the bowl to catch the last drops, and, if I were at a lesser establishment, would probably have tried to lick it off the bottom. But didn't.

thai style crispy pork with chilli vinaigrette

The Bean and the father had been drawn in by the promise of pork. And crispy pork at that. I traded "a spoonful of soup for a forkful of salad" and grinned at the satisfying crunch from the pork crackling. A crunch in food is said to instigate a hightened sense of taste, and ah! how the flavours came through in this dish. I am told that the fresh herbs and rocket added fragrance and pepperiness that contrasted nicely with the pork. Most of the pork fat had been rendered out, leaving only the lean meat and the crispy skin. And the verdict? A big thumbs up.

roast chicken thigh with mushroom duxelle and polenta chips

Another Bean & father choice, with mum & I going for the fish. And another sidenote. My dad doesn't do chicken thigh. Not really. He prefers breast meat (though he also, confusingly, has a weakness for the wings). And so we were all surprised when he decided to go chicken. And we were, truth be told, a little concerned that he would be disappointed with the meal. We should not have worried. The chicken skin was crispy. The polenta chips crunchy on the outside and giving way to a smooth, fluffy interior. The mushroom duxelle ("Is this rice? Is this the polenta?" they asked) was flavoursome and hearty without being overly heavy. I was, not entirely ungrudgingly, given a mouthful to try. And I felt like I had been transported out of the dining room and into a warm, cosy place where all was good with the world and everyone in it. Mmmm... It was entirely unsurprising then, that I wasn't offered a second mouthful.

pan fried sea bream with colcannon and red wine jus

Not that I minded at all, because I was eagerly consuming my own choice of main. The sea bream was fork-flakingly tender and yet firm enough to feel it in your mouth. The flavour of butter came through on its exterior, salty and golden. But it was the colcannon, a traditional Irish dish made from mashed potatoes, cabbage, butter and seasonings, that was a revelation to me. Creamy and crunchy, flavoursome and muted all at the same time. And, depite its relative heaviness, it complemented the fish well. The red wine jus that circled the plate (a slight concern for me initially due to its often too-heavy nature) added a richness to the dish that, again, complemented rather than clashed. And when I not-entirely-ungrudgingly offered a mouthful to the Bean, she rather enjoyed it too.

chocolate parfait with raspberry sorbet

And almost too quickly, it was time for dessert. I say this not because we had been rushed along (far from it in fact) but because time had simply flown. The Bean & mother's chocolate parfait was rich and creamy. A ground up bed of caramelised nuts added texture and the raspberry sorbet perched atop added a refreshing touch. Simple, elegant, delicious.

rice pudding with quince, and prune and Armagnac ice cream

But it was this course that really won me over (and the Bean will disagree here and cite others as her basis point). Father was curious about rice pudding, having eaten (and not enjoyed) it in the past. I was captured by the idea of poached quinces, and an icecream containing prunes. So we decided to take a risk. Mother's eyes flew open. "Are you sure?" she had asked. "Yes." replied the Father "I'm trying different things today." He couldn't have made a better choice. We loved it. The creamy, still al dente, grains of rice were infused with a rich-but-not-cloying vanilla flavour. The quinces were poached throroughly, without turning to mush. And that ice-cream! It was pruney, without being pruney. The Armagnac, already a well known partner of prunes, instilled its distinct flavour in the ice-cream without being overly alcoholic. And, again, I scooped up every last grain.

the open kitchen

We had been seated next to the open kitchen. And oh, how quiet it was. Like a well-oiled machine. Cogs turning without strain. Each had their place. One at the pans, gently sauteeing - not a bang, clang or firey flame to be seen. Another stood at a benchtop, fingers movign deftly. And there, at the pass, carefully fixing plating, checking up on timing and calling orders, was Warren Turnbull. We almost didn't notice them. Which suited really. Understated, yet powerful. Simple, yet elegant. Generous, yet not excessive. Bliss.

Restaurant Assiette
48 Albion Street
Surry Hills, Sydney
ph 02 9212 7979
Prixe Fixe Lunch available Fridays from 12 midday - 2pm.

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lowenbrau keller

It all started with an impromptu email "Oh!" it said "we should do lunch!" But then lunch at the lowenbrau was too great a task, and Thursday lunches had been booked out til infinity and then there were plans for the weekend, but a house (somewhat pleasantly) got in the way, and so came this night. One person turned into four, and then, somehow, suddenly, twelve, and then back down to eight again in the hours leading up to the booking, and when I finally did arrive (camera - check!) there was a little group of five standing ready and waiting for one thing. And that thing was knuckle.

I'd never been in the back room of the Lowenbrau before. Somehow, miraculously maybe, every booking I've made has landed me on the long benches in the front of the house, normally within ear and eye shot of the oom-pa-pa band and the busty beer wenches and lederhosen clad males (is there a male version of wench? All I could think of was "dudes", and that doesn't quite suit if you know what I mean.) So when I saw the big ol' square, solid wood table we were to sit at, and the moose heads in near proximity, I may have squealed. Just maybe.

mooo-ooose!

Soon after everybody had arrived, drinks orders were taken, with a variety of choices being made. One, to my left, had a litre (count 'em. that's 1000ml!) of beer. Another tried the non-alcholic ("Does it still taste yeasty?" asked I. "It tastes herby" said her counterpart, after sipping once, and then again for confirmation.) And I, well I had to have the mango weissen. One times mango nectar mixed with good German bier = one times happy camper.

big bier, little bier

It appeared, at the time of seating, that all and sunder would be ordering the pork knuckle. But then one was vegetarian, and another felt like schnitzel, and I, well I'm not good at sticking with my plans when I order. Oftentimes, I'll decide on one thing, but then, on opening my mouth, something entirely different will come out. Normally the thing I would have ordered if the first was all run out. Or the thing that I was thinking of ordering but decided against for some unknown reason.

Knuspriger Schweinebauch

In this instance, instead of pork knuckle, I said "Pork belly please!" and was instantly confused and delighted at my choice. I had come to eat crackling, you see. Crackling and rich, moist, fatty pork. So whilst mutterings of knuckle were floating around, I was dreaming of boneless knuckle. Preferably boneless, easy to eat knuckle. And potatoes. Because what kinda German meal happens sans potatoes?

inside - check out that fat!

The Knuspriger Schweinebauch is otherwise known as Crackling Roast Pork Belly with Löwenbräu Bier Sauce, Sautéed Potatoes & Red Cabbage. It is also a good couple of dollahs cheaper than its knuckly friend. And it is oh so tasty! Having had the knuckle before, the obvious differences were the lack of bone and the state of the crackling. Whilst the knuckle has crispy, melty crackling, the belly has that hard, shatter-when-you-bite-into-it crackling that is so often found at local RSLs. The meat is whiter here too, instead of the brown meat that is found in the knuckle. All good things really, so I can't (also won't) choose one over the other as an ultimate winner. Guess I'll just have to order them in an alternating sequence :)

Löwenschnitzel

One times schnitzel was ordered. And then one times giant-plate-filling schnitzel arrived. For half a second, all I could think was "Oh my goodness! If that's a chicken breast, how big must that bird have been?!" And then I realised that it was a pork schnitzel, and that I was clearly species confused. But think about it, if it was chicken, you'd be pretty freaked out too right? I think right.

Spaetzle

The spaetzle was served to the lone vegetarian, accompanied by a little side salad. I stared at it, perhaps a little too intently, as it was tasted. "So... what does it taste like?" I asked, hoping for wonder from the mysterious cheesy worms. "Mac & cheese" she replied. "Oh." said I. And it wasn't finished, the cheesiness getting to its consumer.

Schlachtplatte

One schlachtplatte was ordered by one times hungry boy. "Please, help yourselves" said he, "My brother finished one once, and I'm gonna try. But I don't know that I can". It looks small enough from the top, but from the side, its a whole different story.

the side view

Described only as "Löwenbräu's Selection of Bavarian Specialities – Sausages, Chicken Schnitzel, Roast Pork Belly Served with Mashed Potato and Sauerkraut", what the menu doesn't tell you that it's enough for two (the version for two is enough for three) and that, when served, it will take up three times as much room as any other dish.

schlachtplatte fail

It also doesn't tell you that even when one times hungry, and determined, boy tries with all his might to eat it, assisted in part by one times spam-curious girl and a couple of other pickers, he will leave some spam behind. And some belly. And some other assorteds. And a whole lotta sauerkraut. And half a boat of gravy.

Schweinshaxn

But onto what everybody else came for. Knuckle. Beautifully described as Oven Roasted Pork Knuckle with Sauerkraut, Löwenbräu Bier and Mashed Potato. But more fondly known as knuckle made from pig. With crackly crackling. And lotsa potato.

You've probably already heard enough about pork knuckle here, and here so (much as I believe them true) I won't repeat the "crackly goodness" ramblings and the declarations of "moist moist pork!" I will say that if you are a pig-eater, then you should try this. At least once. Maybe twice just to be sure. Three times is ok, as long as the visits are spaced out *winks & points*.

the table

Of course, no-one (and I mean no-one) was allowed to eat anything until their meal had been thoroughly (and studiously) photographed by all in attendance. Much to teh amusement of the lederhosen clad dudes and the busty beer wenches (one of whom took an especial shining to the orderer of the big-plate-of-meat and popped by regularly to ask how his meal was going. He mostly replied with "Nghhhurmph *swallow* good thanks".

kitsch table dressings. flowers = not real.

Lowenbrau Keller
Corner of Playfair & Argyle Streets
The Rocks
Sydney NSW 2000, Australia
ph 02 9247 7785

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