Wilfrid

Another book to recommend is Fading Feasts by Raymond Solokow, which focusses on disappearing American food traditions, such as burgoo made with squirrel, genuine key limes, Smithfield hams, and so on. We have previously discussed the question whether there is an American cuisine as such, and the consensus seems to be that there are a series of overlapping regional cuisines. I wonder if the following is permissible: can one distinguish a set of traditional American regional cuisines, developed by the - essentially European - settlers of seventeenth, eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, from an American cuisine which - first in the big cities, then everywhere - has been shaped by more recent immigration from Latin America and Asia? I think that might be possible - after all, there are plenty of historical surveys of American cooking which do just that. Harder, I think, is to exclude the African influence - of immense importance, especially in the south, from the early years. To the extent I can distinguish such a cuisine, it does seem to me a pity that current, modern American cooking draws on it so little. I should have thought even quite robust rural cuisines, such as that of the Carolina lowlands, could be the source of quite refined and interesting dishes for the upscale restaurant market. Tex-Mex meets classic techniques in Dean Fearing's cooking. I suppose Creole cuisine has poked its nose in here and there. But have any other regional cuisines been upgraded in this way? As a footnote, it seems to me that repeated attempts to create an upscale Southern/African-American style restaurant in New York have failed. Maybe there have been successes elsewhere.

Scandalous. My kaiserschmarren were not ripped, torn or shredded in any fashion. Should've sent 'em back. I gather the pizzas are a lunch item - I didn't see them on the menu. Puck does indeed come out of a European classical tradition - he even cooked at Maxim's. I suppose I expect someone so strongly associated with so-called (self-styled) Californian cuisine to be producing delicate, fancy, fusion-ey titbits that wouldn't put a millimetre on Gwyneth Paltrow's waistline. And Puck always wrongfoots me with things like beef cheeks and apfelstrudel.

I can only recall eating coulibiac with salmon, not sturgeon, although I'm sure the latter is more authentic. One of the great pastry dishes of the world. Edit: Mmm, I see they offer the sturgeon version at The Firebird in New York. I looked this up, as it's the only Russian restaurant I've been inside in years; a tour around the menus will suggest a lot more dishes to add to the list - I don't have the expertize to pronounce on their authenticity: Firebird menus

We sometimes give them to the baby.

Yes, but my problem is that I usually plan meals a day or so ahead, so I already have dinner for the day after the restaurant in the fridge. And so it goes...

We toyed with the idea, but concluded that our tastes were sufficiently different that ordering a la carte was better.

I find that, when I am compelled to take doggie bags home, the food stays in the fridge for a couple of days then gets thrown out. Just me?

150 years from when? Don't do history, Tommy, please don't.

I am still following the fate of the pizzas with interest. Catching up on my reading, I saw that Moira Hodgson reviewed Otto for the Observer a couple of weeks ago. She liked the appetizers, raved about the gelatos, but described the pizzas as "incidental" - she had the usual complaints about the crust. She said that the beginning and end of the meal were good enough to make you forget the middle. Doubtless to be continued...

I have a vague memory that some of us secured doggie bags at Le Bernardin. Am I going mad? Generally, of course, I agree with g.j. The whole palaver of requesting and carrying away leftovers still causes me painful embarrassment.

Although I am uncomfortable, and have no time, I cannot deny you. Appetizers ranged from high teens (salads) to mid-twenties (my gnocchi, for example). There were some black truffle options in the thirties. Entrees ranged from high twenties to high thirties.

I was fortunate to meet up with the estimable Beachfan for a short notice dinner at Spago on a cool Los Angeles evening. My first visit to the restaurant, and I reflected afterwards that I didn't calibrate my tastebuds appropriately. Although I'd read a great deal over the years about Puck's cuisine here, and eaten his food at Postrio in San Francisco, I had somehow led myself to expect something more intricate - indeed more haute we were offered. I now have the idea that Spago is essentially serving competent, hearty bistro cuisine, with some well-sourced ingredients. Is that a fair overview, or did I have an unusual experience? Beachfan plied me with intriguing Californian wines - a 1999 pinot noir from Mendocino and La Jota's 2000 Cabernet Sauvignon. The former was fresh, almost crisp, ideal as an aperitif, and about as far from a 1999 Burgundy as one could imagine, except for the unmistakeable taste of the grape. The cabernet, on the other hand, seemed to me very much in a French style for a Cali red; reserved, austere, and apparently with a good few years to run. I hope Beachfan will chime in to correct, elaborate and comment. My first course was enjoyable but a little overgenerous: good gnocchi with "wild shot" pheasant ragout. The ragout was great but, game-fancier that I am, I wouldn't have distinguished wild from raised pheasant through the flavors of the sauce. But I cleaned the plate. This made the huge slab of Sonoma lamb somewhat hard going. Cooked a little more than I requested, it had a nice strip of crisp fat underneath, and was paired with a rich rice dish - I didn't catch the name, but it was like an extra-moist risotto. Dessert required some courage, and indeed I could hardly face the three vast strawberry blintzes which arrived under the alias of kaiserschmarren. (Incidentally, I know who the Kaiser is, or was, but what are schmarren?). Beachfan did better with a refreshing Meyer lemon flan. Service seemed very nervous - I suppose Beachfan and I are fiercely intimidating characters - although the sommelier was charming. We celebrated our girth expansion with a few rounds of d'Yquemm, of course (of course).

"Some menus feature mousse after mousse, foam after foam: I feel as if I have lost my teeth and am eating baby food." Monsieur Trama has clearly been following my posts with care and attention. However, I do agree with John Whiting that balance and harmony are sometime things. Occasionally I enjoy a meal with a balance of flavors and textures, light and heavy dishes. Perhaps more often, I enjoy following a theme through a meal - strong flavors, gamey flavors, savory dishes. A couple of sample dinners which stick in my mind: Oysters. Roast grouse. Stilton. Preserved pig's liver. Roast woodcock. Welsh rarebit. Not balanced meals in any obvious sense, but meals striking a strong and consistent note. If Lizziee enjoys a symphony, I suppose the above meals are more like Sousa marches; one knows just where one's going, and gets there pretty briskly.

I still haven't been. If I say that this time next year, please shoot me. Steve makes an interesting point about evaluations posted on a site like this. I think my approach - and I'm sure I'm not alone - is that I begin to trust the judgment of individuals after I've read a number of their posts over a period of time, and especially if some of the posts are about restaurants I know and seem to be on the money. Of course, then someone you have grown to trust will amaze you by, I dunno, liking the pizza at Otto's or something.

Too much information.

The Flea Market has a nice traditional menu, but I have yet to venture inside. Thanks for reminding me.

Certainly one can delineate a category of writing according to Steven's precepts and call it "food writing": technical cooking instructions, analyses of dishes, discussion of the sources and quality of ingredients. There's a lot of it around, and very dull it often is. But we then need to find a different term for the work of, not only Fisher, but Liebling, Wechsberg, Root, Trillin, and so many others who are a joy to read and who get the juices flowing. I don't recall Liebling ever explaining how to make a dish or where an ingredient came from, but I have never read better writing about a certain kind of food.

Woolaharra is a residential area off Oxford Street, just beyond Paddington. Oxford Street is one of Sydney's main drags, and I recommend it for strolling, but it's a long street and Claude's is a fair way out. However, only about ten to fifteen minutes in a cab from the InterContinental. Make sure you take the address, because it's a very discreet front door. As I said, on a Thursday evening it was half empty, but since it's a small restaurant I would certainly make a reservation. Enjoy. Meanwhile, on my last night in town, I went up the Cross to cause a bit of trouble. Wrestling with sex show touts, stepping over the smackheads, and resisting the blandishments of young women in exotic plumage; I can get all that at home. One of the Cross's other attractions is the long-established Bayswater Brasserie, a standby for informal dining. Long cocktail list, raw bar, Australian wines and cheeses. My memory tells me the menu is shorter, and the selection of wines by the glass sparser, than in the past. It's a cheerful enough place, but my evening was marred by some fool spooning honey over a slice of perfectly good blue cheese. At least it wasn't served with a vegemite garnish. G'day and goodbye from the land down under, and I hope I come again soon. Will try to add some wine notes when I have a chance.

Camping in suitably jolly fashion at the swish billabong which is Edna's Table, I finally got my dose of bush tucker last night. I had been excited about Lillipilli on King, but found a branch recently opened in the Rocks which put me off the plan. Plastic menus, silly dish descriptions (a lot of "zingy" and "zesty") and a dining room regularly empty except for a handful of forlorn-looking Japanese tourists. Edna's appeared to be a more ambitious and established venture. An attractive white room in an old Central Business District building, with appealing and comfortable chairs at last, Edna's offers indigenous Australian cooking in a fairly non-twee, non-"heritage" atmosphere. Edna, dressed to party and full of information about the food, is out front, and her brother in the kitchen. Being fond of the herb lemon myrtle, I took some Cole's Bay oysters with a salsa of apple, peach and lemon myrtle liqueur on the side. Fine combination. Next up was my first experience with wallaby. A plate sized, deep-fried won ton, stuffed with wallaby meat and greens. To my surprise, wallaby is quite unlike kangaroo. It's a pale, almost white meat, with an assertive gaminess; I have been trying to think what it reminded me of - maybe wild rabbit, although you could mistake it for some kind of fowl. Roo is usually served rare so as not to dry it out, but this meat had been cooked through. Edna told me that it didn't have a higher fat content - it just cooked very quickly and retained its moistness. On the basis of this introduction, wallaby, like kangaroo, deserves to be eaten for its distinctive flavor rather than its novelty value. I wonder when I'll see it again. I took a special of mixed sausages - emu, kangaroo, duck - for my main course, served over mashed sweet potato. I wouldn't particularly recommend this; the duck sausage was great, but the others were a little heavy. If you've read my previous posts, you'll understand that I was looking for something fairly plain and unfussy at this point of the trip. I'd happily go back and riffle through some of the other entrees. Glass of champers with the oysters; a Tasmanian pinot noir with the wallaby - a good pairing, but I am not going to pretent Tasmania has got Burgundy and Oregon beat; a shiraz with the bangers. The final act was a bit of a party with the bush liqueurs. When I expressed an interest, several curious bottes turned up at my table. A raki/anise-like white liqueur flavored with Quandongs; a pale drop of Tasmanian "sugar plum" liqueur; and a dark glass of Kandeltera rainwater, which I would describe as tropical Christmas cake, although Edna explained it was infused with desert limes. I was comped some of this. The check for everything was around the $140 AU mark; very reasonable. I am now going to take my stomach onto a ferry bound for Watson's Bay. Meat pie for breakfast, perhaps?

The responses make all the typing worthwhile - thank you so much. Applause for Professor Balic's masterly explanation of the fish 'n' bugs, and I have made the appropriate correction. Yes, marron seems to be very popular in these parts. BYO. Good questions. From Testuya down, I didn't find a restaurant that didn't encourage BYO. Testuya invites it - a great value $16 AU corkage fee. Other restaurants were about $10 AU; I think you can safely assume that Testuya will be the most expensive. I didn't do BYO, because I lacked time to get to wine shops (I discovered only last night that the Australian Wine Center is just over the street from my hotel). I agree with Tony's comment about fusion. The use of Pacific Rim/Chinese/Japanese technqiues seems so natural and unforced in the context of the climate and ingredients here, that "fusion" is almost the wrong term for it. I have no principled objection to surf 'n' turf, just felt that, at Quay, the chef had not drawn any connections between his ingredients. Porkpa - I think Testuya would accommodate you, but be sure to arrange this in advance, as shellfish is central to every menu in Sydney. There is no menu; the waiters simply announce the courses as they arrive. When I made my reservation at Claude's, the limited menu choices were explained and they made a point of checking my dietary preferences and allergies. Rosie, yes the $178 was US, based on my own arithmetic, and included the wine pairings and tip. In Australian dollars, I believe the prix fixe was around $170 to $190 (memory falure), and drinks and stuff pushed the bill up to around $270 AU. I should have mentioned that Claude's, small though the operation is, is not a lot cheaper than Testuya. You can reduce all these prices of course by doing BYO.

"If you smiled, the walls would fall down on all the people in this pick up joint," I told myself, as I toyed with a ginger martini while enjoying the bay views from the top of the Grand Ana Hotel above the rocks. Relieved to be keeping the "real Australia", with its funnel-web spiders, sloppy meat pies and elderly men in shorts at arms length, I was on my way to dinner at Quay, Sydney Morning Herald's restaurant of the year. Quay is on one floor of a fairly ugly modern building on Circular Quay, which does afford the advantage of harbour and opera house views. The evening I dined there, a mild storm was sweeping in, pushing black clouds over the bay in suitably dramatic fashion. With widely spaced tables, Quay does give most, maybe all, tables a fair portion of the scenic vista. The furniture took after the building, metallic and tubular, but otherwise this had the atmosphere of a serious, luxury restaurant. I found ingredients as good as one could wish, cooked with precision, but assembled into dishes the syntax of which bewildered me. After a forgettable shot of soup, I was looking forward to the first course, a signature dish of crisp pork belly with scallops. The scallops were first rate, bursting with sweetness; the two rectangles of pork belly were suitably rich and toffee-like, garnished with some Chinese mushrooms. I tried putting the scallops and meat in my mouth together, but could taste only the succulent pork. I tried eating meat and scallop alternately, but they didn't seem to want to make friends. It was a little like two good but contrasting dishes served on the same plate. I may have ordered badly - I hear the fish entrees are good - but I was tempted by the special roast squab. With laquered skin and delicate flesh, this was a distinctly Chinese-style bird. The scallops showed up again as a garnish, this time in the company of black-lipped abalone. Abalone is chewy little customer I've never seen the point of, but my complaint here was that again, nothing united the individual components. A thin, soy-based broth poured around by the waiter didn't help. Service was good and generous. I drank a 95 vintage Moet as an aperitif; the sommelier recommended I continue drinking it with the pork, and freely topped up my glass. I also drank a memorable young Shiraz, Jacob's Ladder (?), which had desirable vegetal barnyard notes instead of the usual sweet, chocolatey fruitiness. Overall a disappointing meal. Pausing only to kiss myself in four places, (okay, and do a day's work) I moved on to a degustation at Tetsuya, last year's Sydney M.H. restaurant of the year, and the most talked-about table in town. A rambling cottage behind eery electronic gates, almost concealed off Kent Street, has been refurbished in ersatz Japanese style. Furnished with modern sculptures, and more tubular furniture, there were at least two dining rooms and some busy private rooms too. Note - as I said on another thread - I had no difficulty getting a reservation, and some tables were empty. The staff move smoothly into the no choice ten course menu - in fact, it's even more complex than that since some courses consist of several small dishes. I took the wine pairings - all young wines, and good rather than astounding. $275 Australian per head, including tip and everything (about $178 US, which is a little less than such a meal would cost in New York). I will spare you the details. The cooking was careful, imaginative, and rich in luxury ingredients, but none of the dishes really caught fire (figuratively speaking). Tetsuya-san was in his whites, happily being photographed with satisfied customers. Highlights included: - a pair of shot glasses containing caviar over dried, crumbled eggs and asparagus puree (eggs, humor) and a refreshing orange and beetroot jelly respectively; - a quartet of small tastes: marron (a local crustacean) with generous, pungent black truffle shavings; a skinny roll of New Zealand venison carpaccio stuffed with foie gras; raw kingfish with blood orange (clash!); and a chilled sip of very purely flavored tomato broth. This was one course, note. - lime-infused Tasmanian scallop with soft slices of foie gras mi cuit; this was a hit. And so it went on. An earthy lobster raviolo, very like the one I ate at Kable's a few days before; a skimpy strip of Wagyu beef (now raised in Australia), overwhelmed by some fresh flat mint stuffing; a dangerously young baby chicken - okay chick - poached then tanned under a salamadner, and served on a pedestal of braised daikon; cheeses - mainly French; a blood peach sorbet, showing the essential flavor of the fruit; an old fashioned and nicely wobbly floating island on a creme anglais. My dining companion, not yet licensed to eat at such a staggering altitude, was begging for mercy. I was suitably impressed with the chef's skill, but I wasn't laughing, or crying, or shouting his name to the blue summer sky. Tim Pak Poy, on the other hand... when I think about him I touch myself. This guy, cooking at a long-established little bistro in Woolaharra, named Claude's sent me to heaven. Everyone, this should be your first reservation when you come to Sydney, and maybe your second one too. Buzz to enter the small dining room behind the discreet wooden door. The decor is white, with a big distressed mirror which remidned me of London's The Lindsay House. They do run to a carpet, however, as well as more of that metallic furniture; I am forced to concldue that people here like it. Two choices only, a three course dinner or five course tasting, sharing several of the same dishes. About twenty five covers (I'm told there's a small room upstairs), but the place was only half full on a Thursday night. Service was uncharacteristically reserved and reticent by local standards, but polished. Another marathon dinner with wine pairings for me, please. Knowing the chef's reputation for adventure, I was worried by the amuse: ocean trout roe in little pastry cornets dusted with icing sugar. The eggs, which looked like salmon roe, burst on the tongue with a dramatic, forceful pop - but I wasn't looking for a humorous, gimmicky dinner. Another false start with the little cup of smoked salmon consomme. I lifted it by the handle, tasted the warm cream floating on the soup, took a sip, and scalded my tongue. Ridiculously hot. But as the pain subsided, the meal took off. - soft shell crab over peppered lentils, with buckheat noodles, sweet green tomatoes, fresh mint and what appeared to be flower petals. The petals had been treated somehow - maybe smoked? - and added exotic flavors to the beautiful balance of the dish (this is now sounding like Iron Chef, I know. Bear with me). - in one bowl, a glazed filet of Murray River cod (thanks to Balic for the correction), a single cherry, cucumber salad with dill, scattered with tiny white flower blossoms; in another bowl, a "sugared" oyster, shreds of abalone, a chilled tomato en gelee, garnished with dry seaweed. May I never eat again if this was not one of the finest dishes (or pairs of dishes) I have ever eaten in my life. The sweetest, freshest cod, the deepest flavored oyster, the range of textures and temperatures. Pass the hankies. - Quail "sausage" (looked like whole boned quail to me, legless of course), served on a hot char-grilled slice of melon. Yes, hot and sweet and thirst-quenching melon. And a champagne sauce; an old fashioned-cream thickened, but delicate and tasty, champagne sauce. Wagyu beef. A generous slice this time, with ox heart tomato, chunky slices of oyster mushroom, and a porcini jus. For the first time, I really saw the point of Wagyu beef; not only is it well-marbled, but the fat has almost the flavor and consistency or well-cooked bone marrow; double unctuous. The restaurant presented large, whole Perigord truffles, with an aromatic impact I have never found in New York or London (why?), and shaved them very generously over the beef at a putative (no weighing) $6 Australian per gram. More truffles? How about black truffle ice cream served over a fresh roast fig. I asked for a gallon to take away, but my server smiled and moved on. Then an upright almond souffle, filled with fresh, diced peach and cream. Petits fours. I want to tidy up my wine notes for this dinner, and maybe Tetsuya, before posting further. You must pity me now as I pick myself up and head for dinner doubtless cooked by mere mortals. Onward, but surely not upward. I think I have just eaten the best meal of 2003.

A typical first day in Sydney, strolling rapturously under the Opera House, my blue eyes shining honey sweet with love. This place brings back many memories, happy and bitter sweet. Last time I was here was before the Olympics, and there are certainly some changes. Some high rise buildings sprung up along the quay, overshadowing the little oyster shack, some hotels vanished, others changed their names. Most of the cute little neighborhood bistros I remember seem to have slipped off the coil or changed their names. L'Aubbergade in Surry Hills, Riberries in Woolamaloo, where are you now? Also, to my disappointment, the fresh shrimp and lobster rolls on sale around the ferry terminal seem to have been largely displaced by pizzas and cheese 'n' bacon croissants. My first evening, launched by corny old Australian powerpop - "How can you see looking through those tears, don't you know you're worth your weight in gold" - took me to Sydney's oldest pub, the Fortune of War, thankfully unchanged. Waist-high tiles, a picture on the wall of the bar fight scene from "A Town Called Alice", filmed right there. Schooners of VB. I eschewed the hot, floppy pies which are a sort of scrawled signature dish, and wandered down to the Campbell warehouses, a string of tourist-popular restaurant conversions. I remembered good kangaroo filet and shrimp with lemon myrtle at Wolfie's Grill. It's still there, but the menu's less interesting, and they were disinclined to give up an outside table to a single-top. So back to Kable's in the Four Seasons. A hotel dining room, with all that means, but a highly rated menu - dishes from the lingua franca of upscale dining, with a focus on local ingredients - haute Australian, I'm going to call this style. Refreshing amuse, a demi tasse of pink watermelon and champagne soup with mango, a dollop cream and some fresh mint. First rate. A Sydney rock lobster raviolo with a crustacean (crab? bay bug?) reduction; savory and earthy. Venison braised in Shiraz - a quite exemplary daube, which only needed a little extra salt. Five Australian cheeses, served a little too cold; and I'm afraid Queensland cheddar is absolutely disgusting; the rest were fine. I developed a wine program from the glasses available. First a Yalumba viognier, then - also from Yalumba - a shiraz/viognier; what's that all about? But it was fruity, chocolatey. Then a straight shiraz - Basket Neck I think? Feel free to correct me. A little overcast this morning, but warm enough for bikinis on Manly Beach, and I am about to eat some crisp and greasy fish 'n' chips. Quay tonight, Sydney Morning Post's restaurant of the year.

Oh yes, any kind of leftover sandwich can be jammed into the orifice of a fowl with pleasing results. Peanut butter and jelly, sardine, egg salad.

He moveth in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform.

Don't despair. I got an evening dinner reservation about two weeks in advance, without even mentioning eGullet . I deliberately chose a Tuesday evening rather than Friday or Saturday. I agree with the tip about calling, but I did have to exchange faxes with the restaurant to authorize a credit card penalty of AU$50 for a no show. (No worries about that, because of course I'd phone to cancel if I couldn't make it.)