Epic lunch for one
MELBOURNE -- I came to Melbourne specifically to eat. Bon Appétit, New York Magazine and Anthony Bourdain have all called it a foodie city. And foodie, I am.
I have been traveling in this part of the world with friends for a wedding: Californians living in Sydney, Australia having a destination wedding in Queenstown, New Zealand. And since we are all Facebook brats, we turned it into a two week traveling adventure across both countries. The rest of the group is back in California now, but I am on a culinary detour in Melbourne.
I only have a weekend, so I am going straight to the top at Vue de Monde, aptly named because it sits atop what is probably the tallest building in Melbourne (something I would know if I researched anything other than restaurants). It is very Windows on the World in the the days of the World Trade Center. It is Sunday afternoon so the building lobby is empty other than a solitary guard dressed in black behind a slick-looking desk. She asks my name, repeats it into her earpiece device and awaits instruction before walking me to the elevator. She presses the buttons for me and at the top I am greeted by a man, also fitted with an earpiece. He takes my coat and leads me to my table: square black stone, facing the floor to ceiling windows. I was anxious about having this decadent meal by myself without a book or a computer to distract me or say to the others that I don't usually do this. But am I am here to enjoy the meal. So I have my phone for pictures and a pocket notebook for notes.
Eating at this restaurant is like a practice run for what my life would be like if ever I inherited a bunch of servants and footmen. As soon as I am seated, a man brings a stool for my purse (+1 for giving my favorite Marc a seat of his own). Next, a woman introduces herself to me as the menu consultant. There isn't one chef's tasting menu here. It is a customized five to ten course experience based on how you're feeling and what you like to eat. I tell her I will try anything, that I am here to earn my foodie stripes. And we agree on seven courses total, with just one for dessert as I try to wrap my head around the idea of multiple dessert courses...maybe next time.
Next appears the sommelier. Since I am here alone, I am more inclined to make conversation. I tell him about my hangover from Melbourne White Night and my affinity for dry champagne and he suggests the house bubbles, made exclusively for the restaurant by a small vineyard in, well... Champagne, France, obviously. It is labeled "brut zero" because the winemakers don't add any extra sugar to it and as a result it tastes like alka-seltzer in the best way possible. (Remember, I’m not feeling well…)
The servers continue. There is a man whose specializes in pairing teas to maximize your dining experience and when I tell him about my aversion to caffeine he runs back to the kitchen to concoct a new blend for me. And before he returns, the menu consultant comes back with a few servers carrying my amuse-bouches.
Amusing they are! Salt and vinegar chips with a macadamia nut puree, salt-cured wallaby meat, smoked eel with white chocolate and caviar and an oyster cleverly hidden in a shell with a removable lid. All delicious and perfectly paired with that champagne of the gods. I let the sommelier know that I will need another glass. My hangover is gone. And to think, the meal hasn't even technically begun...
As the first course comes out, the menu consultant warns they are going to push my food limits. Bring it!
The "first" course: barramundi (a local fish), a thinly-sliced and fancily-rolled potato, caviar and lemon. My verdict: delicious. I want more potatoes and less fish, but that's probably because I am "fat American."
Second course: Flinder's Island lamb, olive, Australian anchovies and sunflower. The menu consultant and I talked about "no olives" so I am surprised by this, but maybe this is what she means by "pushing my limits." I eat it anyway and everything else is so good I hardly notice the usually gag-inducing flavor of olives. As they are clearing away the plate, the chef comes out and apologizes for the olives. He misread my notes. I congratulate him on being the first person to get me to eat olives.
Third course: Kangaroo, charcoal, onion. I love red meat and they say kangaroo is very sustainable meat option out here, but I took a photograph with one yesterday at the Melbourne Zoo so I feel pretty bad about this, especially because it is sizzling for my (and now your) enjoyment. Still, it's delicious so I get over it quickly.
Before the next course, I am treated to a palette cleanser that is also a DIY activity involving dry ice, herbs and cucumber sorbet. It is as deliciously refreshing as it is fun, but I can't help but be a little terrified of eating some liquid nitrogen and exploding my stomach...
The fourth course of duck yolk, pear and truffle is so good that I eat most of it before I remember to take a picture. I love a good egg and it's nearly impossible to find one in America.
By the time the fifth course approaches I am losing steam, so I am relieved to see that it is just a finger sandwich. Like the size of my fingertip. "Mud crab," the server says as she explains that it's a local delicacy. It is delicious and I am hungry again, daydreaming about a whole bag of fingertip-sized mud crab sandwiches when the menu consultant returns to explain that the delectable mud crab was just an appetizer for the rest of the fifth course. Courses can have multiple courses? Why, yes. And the rest - a platter of marron (another local shelfish), sweetbreads and lamb floss - is so delicious that I would like a whole bag of this too, please.
As delicious as everything is, I am losing steam. There is one course left before dessert. I am down two glasses of champagne so I sip some Peligrino in between. I'm pretty sure they're going to charge me $20 for the bottle so I am determined to drink at least some of it.
My sixth course arrives: beef tongue, beetroot and bone marrow. I don't normally like any of these things in real life, but it's just a spoon of each, so I go for it. Not bad, especially the white stuff which tasted like freeze-dried ice cream.
The flavors were so interesting that I almost forgot that we were at our last course. Right as I was ready to tap out, I made it to the end - and on my own at that!
My lucky seventh course is presented as a beautiful plate of cherry, raspberry and yogurt. It is light and refreshing, and I am relieved until I realize it is a palate cleanser for the giant soufflé I see the menu consultant carrying my way. I am beyond full but this thing is food porn right in my face, so I give it an earnest try with a few bites before I feel like I'm going to die. (Which frankly would be okay since I'm pretty sure that I'm already in heaven.)
I surrender to the menu consultant who despite my objections serves me one last blow: petit fours! And they are the most perfect confections I have ever eaten. The one on the far right is a white chocolate oyster shell that tastes like chocolate and the ocean all at the same time.
At the end of the meal, I am happy to see the tea consultant again (not to be confused with the menu consultant nor the sommelier). He makes me a post meal blend and moves me to the lounge on the other side of the restaurants to switch up the view. The chairs are low and comfortable because they appreciate how draining of a sensory experience that just was. I mean, I am actually exhausted.
When I am done with my tea, I am presented with a to go bag filled with goodies for tomorrow morning: granola, pastries, jam, tea. It really never ends, but I am not complaining... these are going to be excellent airplane snacks tomorrow!
And last, because all good things must come to an end, I am given the bill. Or rather, the receipt because they took the liberty of charging the card I used to make the reservation. I suppose it takes the sting out of a $300 lunch. But as the saying goes in that credit card commercial, some things in life are priceless.
